


let the stars collide

by ehre_wahrheit



Series: inheriting the stars [1]
Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime & Manga), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Codependency, Confused Katsuki Yuuri, Dealing With Loss, Grief/Mourning, Military, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating change due to themes, Sleipnir & Arion need more friends, Yuki trying to be a wingman and failing lol, i will make my ship sail if it kills me, tags aka DSM checklist lol, the dogs are central characters, this universe has more kataphrakts than the original, watch my alexythimic aromantic ass write feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2018-10-01 05:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 61,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10182032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehre_wahrheit/pseuds/ehre_wahrheit
Summary: Fifteen years after the events that shattered the moon and changed the world, an assassination sparks the Second Interplanetary War between the citizens of Earth and Vers.Yuuri just wants his family to be safe, but in a time when nothing is as it seems, even survival seems bleak.-in which there's a war, people try to cope, and we learn that not all's fair in love and war - but as long as we grow, we can hold on and, slowly, make the world a little brighter.no prior knowledge of either series is needed to understand the events of this story.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> [title is still subject to change]  
>   
>   
> in this AU, the characters of Yuuri! on Ice live in the universe of Aldnoah.Zero, although it will diverge from canon at some point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **EDIT 1022** Rewrote some scenes and improved the chapter in general! I hope you enjoy :)

_it's dark here, without you;_

_but maybe i'll learn how to burn on my own_

_or maybe i'll accept the warmth of another's brightness._

_still, as the universe loves the sun -_

_i love you._

* * *

 

It’s early afternoon when it happens.

Yuuri is seven, and has just gotten home from his ballet lessons at Minako- _sensei_ ’s. He’s busy bathing with his puppy Vicchan when his mother, in a panic, runs into the bathroom and grabs him around the middle, wrapping a towel around him as she does so. She fumbles for a moment and calls for Mari to take care of Vicchan as she rubs the towel around Yuuri's body and against his hair, pulling pants up around his legs and his favorite sweater against his head.

Yuuri does his best to help, pulling on the edge and shaking his head once he's through the hole, and pushing his arms into the sleeves.

“What’s the rush, _kaa-san_?” he asks, because usually _kaa-san_ lets him continue bathing for at least fifteen minutes more, or until Vicchan starts whining to get out of the bathroom because bath is now _boring_. She has put him in his favorite sweater: the knitted one with a yellow _Y_ in the middle, for _Yuuri._ “ _Kaa-san_?” he calls again, when she does not answer.

Mari now has Vicchan in her grasp, towel wrapped around his curly, brown fur, and Yuuri takes him from her. She grabs Vicchan's leash and collar from the door as _kaa-san_ leads them out of the house, out of the gates, and into the streets – where the rest of Hasetsu’s population seem to be running. Yuuri knows this is the way to the train tracks, but he still doesn’t understand why they have to go until something bright catches his eye and he looks up.

At first, he doesn’t understand what he’s seeing. There are shapes in the sky, and they look like they're falling at first; they're strange, and they look like people, but -

“Mari- _nee_ , are those people _flying_?” he asks, because it's just like his favorite show!

“Yuu- _chan_ , we have to go!” _kaa-san_ says, and she sounds tired and strange as she grabs Vicchan and gives him to Mari while she grabs Yuuri again and they _run_. Yuuri doesn’t know why. Are those the bad guys? Aren’t they the _good_ guys?

They don’t get too far.

A few seconds later, there’s a huge tremor, and _kaa-san_ stumbles, nearly dropping Yuuri. “ _Kaa-san!”_ Yuuri yells, scrambling to a standing position and helping to pull his mother up. It takes them a while to get her on her feet, but when she's finally standing, he tries to look around to see how badly Hasetsu has been shaken by that earthquake. He turns towards the beach.

He freezes. There’s a giant robot, by the sea, and it’s shining and _strange_ where an unobstructed view of the horizon should be. He isn’t allowed more time to study it, though, as _kaa-san_ picks him up and continues running, a limp obvious in her steps. Yuuri wants to get out of _kaa-san_ 's grip, if only just so she doesn't have to have a tough time running, but he's too confused and scared and he doesn't understand why his arms or voice aren't working. They're closer to the trains now than they were earlier, but he knows that if they want to get there sooner, he will have to run on his own.

" _Kaa-san_ ," Yuuri says, and his voice sounds strange. "I can run, can I run, please?"

 _Kaa-san_ slows down and then puts Yuuri on his feet, cupping his face before she grabs his hands and they're both running for the tracks. Yuuri already feels his legs burning, like they do when he holds a position too long or when he jumps too much while dancing, but he doesn't want to stop until they get to the trains.

They see Mari, standing at the door of the station, when the sounds start from behind them.

People start screaming and finally, _finally_ , Yuuri registers the fear—it takes a hold of his heart and tastes close to the soil that one time he fell on his face while playing. He clutches at _kaa-san’_ s hands and buries his face into her arm, not letting her go while they enter the station, not daring to stop running.

Yuuri tries to remember, but he can’t—he doesn’t know how to _breathe_ , he only knows that _kaa-san_ is still running and his nose hurts where it’s pushed against her clothes. His chest hurts like it has never hurt before—not the first time he had ever gotten that asthma attack; not even that one time Mari _accidentally_ kicked him.

He nearly cries out when _kaa-san_ stops running, bumping into her legs when he can’t stop himself on time. Mari lets go of Vicchan, who immediately launches himself to Yuuri. He catches the puppy against his chest, heaving and trying to get enough air into his burning lungs because he can't breathe and he's starting to feel dizzy, like that one time he stayed in the hot water too long.

 _Tou-san_ is already there, waving tickets and gesturing them over. They’re close to where he’s standing when _kaa-san_ releases his hand. They’re close enough that Yuuri doesn’t really mind being let go of, clutching Vicchan’s leash tighter in one small fist. Instead, he looks at his father, at his mother, at his older sister.

He feels strange as he takes one, two, three steps towards his family, who are already huddled together by the cashier. _Kaa-san_ crouches and spreads her arms for him to run into, Vicchan immediately trying to pull at Yuuri to get to her.

He blinks, and then suddenly, they’re _gone_. Vicchan is whimpering by his feet, curled around him like shivering leg warmers, and Yuuri shakes. He takes one step forward, and then another, until he and Vicchan are running, but when he gets to where his family was standing, _just a few seconds ago,_ there’s nothing there but the concrete of the ceiling.

He takes a deep breath. Maybe they just went to check on the train. He should just wait here, he’s sure _kaa-san_ will send Mari- _nee_ to come get him when it’s time to leave. So, he squats, right where he would be if he had been hugging his mother, and pulls Vicchan close to his chest.

(Years later, when he reads his report, he finds out that he had sat there for thirteen hours, until the first wave of rescue teams found him unconscious – dehydrated, starving, and mentally unstable. Vicchan had managed to get loose and had led one of the rescuers to him, who carried him out of Hasetsu and to the closest evacuation center built in Tokyo, Japan. It’s years later that he finds out that his whole family vanished in the first storm of what will, in the future, be known as Heaven’s Fall.)

*

Surprisingly, they let him keep Vicchan in the center. The kitchen ladies give him leftover rice and soup and he doesn’t grow too much, even though poodles are supposed to grow bigger. Maybe he was stunted, the soldiers joke, while they play catch when Yuuri is busy with the reading and writing lessons that all the children in the center are required to take. They started giving the children lessons two years after they moved into the center - the adults who used to teach before Heaven's Fall were all gathered and given a group of children to teach to give them a sense of normalcy despite their circumstances.

The soldier who rescued him likes to check up on him every now and then. She feels responsible for him, she says – he was her first rescue, and his story touched her more than any others did, especially since he's one of the orphans who have no other family, who do not have any relatives left to take care of them. Yuuri likes her. She smells nice, and she always bring treats for Vicchan – there’s not a day she visits that Vicchan doesn’t get a gift. Some gifts are small, like a tennis ball she had picked up during a rescue mission, but other times they’re big: like that one time she brought in large bags of dog food that Vicchan absolutely _loves_.

(Her name is Sergeant Kelly, and she smiles a lot, which makes Yuuri feel better. Most of the adults in the center don’t smile at all, and they frown at him and the other children when they laugh too loud or talk too much. At night, none of them even look at him, huddled alone in his bed, but he doesn’t mind. He has Vicchan to warm him up, anyway.

She likes taking him out for walks, too, letting him explore other parts of Tokyo that he rarely gets to see since no one else takes him out. She calls them 'excursions' and he _loves_ it, even though he's not allowed to take Vicchan with him when they go out for their explorations since it's dangerous and they have got to be very, very careful.)

The children are nice to him, at least. They let him play with them and sit with them at lunch and they like Vicchan, too.

*

Yuuri is 8 when he makes his first real friend in the form of Yuuko, a girl two years older than he is and more than willing to play with him and still involve Vicchan, even if it means they have to play on their own because you can’t really play hide-and-seek with a dog, can you?

It’s Yuuko who asks him one day why he named his dog _Vicchan_ , and he admits that it had been his father who gave the dog the name.

“He said it’s the English word for _winner_ ,” he says softly, “because Vicchan wins at being a cute dog.”

“You can’t explain it that way anymore, though,” she answers, “because from now on we’ll have to talk in _English. Forever.”_

Yuuri scrunches his nose, and hopes that he doesn’t have to, because “How will _kaa-san_ and – “

He stops.

(He doesn’t finish his sentence, because how will he say that his family doesn’t speak past conversational levels in any foreign language? Why does he even have to say that, when they’re not even around to talk it anymore?)

She’s quiet for a moment before she says, “I miss my mom, too. And my little sister.”

He blinks at her, because it’s the first time anyone has ever tried to talk to him about it – about this, about the loss, about why he feels guilty whenever he closes his eyes and sees his family standing there one second, and then gone in the next. “Every day?”

( _Even when you’re asleep?_ he wants to ask, is itching to ask. _Do you miss them, even when you’re smiling and laughing, and playing with Takeshi and Vicchan? Do you feel like you’re losing them all over again whenever you wake up to realize that you’ve woken up to a world where they aren’t here anymore?)_

Yuuko nods. “Every moment of everyday. I wish they’re here with me, or that this never happened at all.” And then, she smiles – and her smile seems to chase all the dark and sad away from Yuuri. “But that’s okay – I have you, and Take- _kun_ , and even Yuki- _chan_ and her brother!”

As Yuuri smiles back and gives Vicchan a pat on the head, he slowly wonders, _but am I going to be enough?_

*

(Yuuri is 9 when he hears about them for the first time: Martians, the Hypergate, trying to destroy or take over the Earth.

He doesn’t understand, does not get the _how why what_ of the adult’s conversations, but he remembers _giant robots_ and his family disappearing in the blink of an eye; he remembers a giant tremor and his view of Hasetsu’s sea obstructed by something _red_ and _shining_ under the spring light.

He does not know how he feels about it. At first, he is angry – how can _people_ be able to do that? He had lost his family – countless people have lost their families, their _homes_ –

And then he feels… resigned. Because if that’s how strong the enemy is, how can they manage to keep _living_?

He hugs Vicchan close to his chest, and remembers Yuuko saying, _I miss them, too, but I have you,_ and he tells himself that _this is good enough, this is better than you deserve, love it and enjoy it and hold on to it with all your strength._

When he goes to sleep that night, he dreams of _kaa-san_ wiping his forehead and telling him, _you’re a strong boy, Yuu-_ chan _, you can do it,_ the night before a ballet recital. It’s the first night in a while that he does not get nightmares.)

*

He meets Inaho Kaizuka and in the strangest way possible – by Yuki forcefully plopping him down on his lap, saying, “Please give Nao- _kun_ his lunch, I’ll be back soon!” before hurrying away.

Inaho and Yuuri blink at each other for a while, before Yuuri reaches for his spoon. Inaho is _small_ – Yuuri is small, too, but Inaho is _smaller_ , and he doesn’t know how old he is, and what do _children eat?_

He decides to try the mashed potatoes, first, to see if Inaho can swallow it. The boy obediently takes the small bite into his mouth, giving a small chew before swallowing. “Thank you, _nii-san_ ,” he says, before opening his mouth for more. Yuuri takes another serving, and gives it to the boy.

Yuuri is 9 when he feels something warm and fuzzy for the first time in a while for someone other than Vicchan. It’s different to the warmth that he feels when Yuuko smiles, or when Takeshi and the other children let him into their games – it goes deeper, and makes him want to squeeze the boy in his lap close to his chest.

He gives Inaho plus points while Yuki stays at 0 when Inaho ends up liking Vicchan more than Yuki did. Inaho would sleep tucked up in his small bed, cuddled close to Vicchan who curls protectively around him. In their waking hours, while Yuuri and Yuki are busy with studies and with chores, Vicchan and Inaho entertain each other with games of fetch and tag, or, in one occasion, of chase.

Vicchan ends up seeing Inaho as something to _protect_. When the other children’s voices get too loud that Inaho curls up and hides his ears in his hand, Vicchan stands up and growls at them. The first few times, they ran. The next, they started throwing things at Vicchan: shoes, at first, and then small stones. When one of those stones hits Inaho, Vicchan chases the children away.

(After that, the children stop the bullying, although Yuuri and Yuki both get a warning that if they don’t control their dog, it will have to be thrown out.

Yuki hugs Vicchan close and promises him that he’ll never have to leave.)

And that’s how Yuuri meets the Kaizuka siblings – who he soon grows to care for and who grow to care for him; who soon grow into his new _family_ when he notices that Takeshi likes spending more time alone with Yuuko than with Yuuri-and-Yuuko. So, he spends more time with Inaho and Yuki – finds out that Inaho likes eggs, finds out that Yuki has a bad habit of oversleeping and leaving Inaho to his own devices or in Yuuri’s care.

(Not that he minded.

He didn’t. In fact, he liked it – he likes Inaho’s quiet company, likes his interests, he likes that Inaho doesn’t judge him too harshly when he spends more of their time together stretching and practicing the moves he remembers from ballet lessons than actual playing.

“It’s our secret,” he tells Inaho one day, as he puts his phone on its highest volume, his favorite song ready to be played. It's an old phone that Sergeant Kelly gave him for one of his birthdays, when she found out that he used to dance when he was younger. She'd loaded his favorite songs in it before giving it to him, making him promise to dance with her one day. “I made this dance for you.”

Inaho nods, quiet and taciturn as always, but the spark of interest in his eyes is undeniable.

Yuuri presses play, hurries to the starting position, and he _lets go._

Inaho never brings it up in public, but whenever they are alone, he asks Yuuri to dance a small sequence, and he suggests he change that move to this; position his arms this way and raise his leg just – yeah, just like that.)

So, when Yuki turns 18 a few years ahead of him, he agrees to move out of the evacuation with them, to live in a small apartment that they’re able to afford from money from the government.

Yuuri volunteers his share of the allowance, too, to help with living expenses like food and pans; and although it makes him feel guilty about it, he accepts Sergeant Kelly's help too – although only in the form of food for Vicchan, and clothes for Inaho, who is growing surprisingly fast, for a child that seemed so small not too long ago.

Just like that, they make their own little family.

*

It’s early fall (or around then, anyway – from the way his science teacher at the center explained it, apparently, because the moon and the earth’s atmosphere was destroyed during heaven’s fall – added to the destruction of almost half the Earth’s terrain – climates patterns changed) when Yuuri arrives home from walking Vicchan around the neighborhood to a strange sight.

One thing Yuuri learned early on was that, although they had small squabbles, the Kaizuka siblings never really _fought_. Inaho likes teasing Yuki and her perpetual carelessness – he is fond of watching her whine and react rather excessively to his many comments and _slight_ suggestions, but he never allows anything to develop into full-blown _fights_.

When big decisions need to be made in their household – like, for example, Yuuri and Inaho enrolling into the first school that he government establishes in their community for surviving children like them to continue with their education – Inaho usually backs down and lets Yuuri and Yuki talk it out themselves, only adding his two cents at the beginning of the discussion. After that, he goes with whatever decision the older children make.

Yuuri is fifteen when he finds his siblings standing on opposing ends of the small living room, obviously in the middle of an argument. Inaho is uncharacteristically frowning, and the line between Yuki’s eyebrows seem to be deeper than usual. It’s strange enough that Vicchan, clever dog that he is, obediently sits down right at Yuuri’s feet by the door.

“Um,” Yuuri says, his heart skipping a beat when the both of them turn to look at him, “is… everything okay?”

Everything was fine, when he had left less than an hour ago. Was that long enough for things to turn out like this?

“Yuu- _nii_ ,” Inaho begins, “Yuki- _nee_ wants to enlist in the military.” His voice is even, controlled – he does not sound pleased, but he doesn’t sound particularly angry, either. Only the slight frown on his lips and the tightness in his shoulders – both of which are unusual on his usual taciturn self – betray how he feels about the topic, the situation.

“ _Oh_ ,” Yuuri breathes, blinking. He feels relieved, but his chest seizes up as he turns to look at his sister. Images of that _time_ – of the screaming, the running, _blinking and then they’re gone,_ kaa-san _, where are you_? – running in his head and blocking his airways. “Oh,” he says again, when he finally finds that he can breathe.

Yuki sighs. “I want to be able to _help_ , Nao- _kun_ , Yuu- _kun_! I’ve talked to the counselors at the center for this. They’re drafting volunteers right now, and training will start in three weeks. What’s so wrong with wanting to be able to protect you?”

Unlike both of her brothers, Yuki Kaizuka is expressive. She is honest in her tone and open in her expressions and body; her words do not hide any other meaning than what one would hear. Sarcasm does not sit well with her and she despises any kind of lie – even lies that would, in hindsight, make people feel _better_.

“What if you’re made to kill, Yuki- _nee_?” Inaho demands, taking one step forward. Yuuri takes one, too, towards him – this show of aggression does not bode well for this discussion. “What if they order you to take someone’s life?”

“It’s a war, Nao- _kun_!” Yuki explodes, her hands flying in frustration. “No wars can be fought without lives lost!”

“What if _you_ die?” Inaho asks, now much quieter. He sounds… resigned. Yuuri shifts where he’s standing, and Vicchan whines in distress. “What if we lose _you_ , Yuki- _nee_? Who is going to protect _you_?"

Yuki groans, and she rushes at Inaho – not to hit him, but to hold him in her arms. “It’s a war, Nao- _kun_ ,” she whispers. “I’ll try my best to survive, and I’ll do my best in training. I’ll come back to you guys, over and over again. And if I don’t…” she pulls back, and reaches over to pull Yuuri into their hug, too. Vicchan stands on his hindlegs to join in, and Yuki laughs as she pets his head. “If I don’t,” she whispers, “at least I’ll sleep with the thought that I had done something to protect you, to give you a world where you won’t need to live in fear.”

*

At school, Yuuri and Yuuko meet again – this time as students and not as orphaned children in a government evacuation center. They spend their lunches together and go through drills together; they cheer on Inaho during his PE classes and they study for their exams in the library in each other’s presence.

Yuuko finds out about Yuki’s plans of enlisting, and admits that Takeshi plans on enlisting, as well.

(“So, I understand how you’re probably feeling, Yuu- _chan_ ,” she says, the nickname evoking thoughts of his mother and of his sister; of guests at a home that he remembers only distantly now. The guilt that settles at the pit of his stomach feels more like a welcomed old friend than a burden.

“Do you feel like this, too?” he asks her, accepting her offer of more lunch. “I… I don’t know why I never thought I could _help_ , why I still don’t know if I _can_ , Yuuko- _chan_.”

She smiles at him, patting his hand with hers. He likes when she does that – she’s soft and gentle all the time. “Of course I do. And I know why you feel like that.” She looks away, to the garden; there are smaller children playing in a circle, the youngest in the school’s roster. “You feel like you’re not strong enough, don’t you? You feel like, if you could _help_ , you should have been able to, back then, all those years ago?”

Yuuri swallows, but he stays silent. It’s answer enough for her.

It’s answer enough for him, too.)

*

A few years later, when they're older and they're nearing the end of their compulsory education, Yuuri stands at the roof deck of their apartment complex, looking at the stars. It's a closely held secret of his, that he finds the shattered moon beautiful, despite the tragedy that its fragmented form symbolizes for Earth. In a few weeks, he will have to decide what he wants to do in life, and try to find a way to be able to do so.

Yuuko suggests _med school_ , and Yuuri agrees, when they talk about it in school. He applies for medical training even when it takes more of his time that he would rather spend with Inaho or Vicchan or Yuki, even when it means he goes home tired and hungry, doing nothing but depleting what little funds they’re getting in the first place.

He's surprised when he gets accepted, at first; and then he's downright shocked when one of the United Forces of Earth's best doctors takes him on as a protegee. He's shocked, but he promises to work hard, and he does his best so that no one is disappointed in him.

He continues to fight and study and _work_ even after Yuki goes away to the military base cities away from where he and Inaho live; even when he notices that Inaho begins working harder, himself, to stay independent and keep from asking for his help. His mind struggles to memorize terms and body parts and codes even as his body starts getting used to sitting at a desk for hours on end, accepting the meals that Inaho prepares for him, his only interactions with his dog only being at midnight when he rests his snout on Yuuri’s lap. His hands are steady when he asks Inaho to sit down so that he can name his muscles and bones; his voice is confident when he recites _-isms_ and long, winded terms for medication.

A part of him always regrets all that time that he couldn’t spend with his brother, dog and – occasionally – his sister, but it all works out, in the end, when he graduates and successfully assists in his first operation: a refugee ship that had just arrived from somewhere in what used to be Europe, with sick civilians and wounded soldiers.

He volunteered to help with the soldiers, first, because he knows first aid better than he knows maintenance medicine, and they allow him to.

Yuuri is 21 when he is given the rank of _Sergeant_ , after he saves a general from a nasty wound taken after he had gotten pinned under the debris of his Kataphrakt, protecting civilians and his subordinates as they rushed to leave the city. It was the last city that needed evacuation before it was rendered _unfit for habitation_ , but something had gone wrong – a landmine, planted years ago, undetected, had gotten triggered by Kataphrakts moving about. It was large and planted under a tall building, which collapsed easily – over a temporary evacuation center where soldiers and volunteer civilians were resting.

It had been lucky that the general’s Kataphrakt had been activated during that time. If not, they’d be having less survivors from the mission right now.

(“What even are Kataphrakts?” he asks, later that evening during dinner, which he shares with some of the other medical staff that have been assigned to taking care of the casualties.

“You don’t know?” Phichit, a survivor from Thailand and their superior’s other protégé, asks. He sounds surprised. “For a Japanese man, you sure are uninformed, aren’t you?”

Yuuri tries not to be annoyed, but he still laughs at Phichit’s jab. “I don’t know, Phichit, which is why I’m asking. If I could, I’d ask any other person, too.”

Phichit’s scandalized face more than makes up for the delay in information he had been asking for.

“Kataphrakts are our version of those Martian robots,” Phichit says, his gaze uncharacteristically far away, unfocused. “We use them to fight the Martian soldiers who have been in hiding, biding their time and getting ready to wreck us again. Right now, we have at least six versions, the seventh being the most stable so far. From what I hear, they’re having military drills be a part of the middle school curriculum. They’ll be practicing with the Sleipnir, the sixth Kataphrakt created, second known to be able to destroy an enemy Kat.”

Yuuri blinks. “Why are they making children pilot those things?”

Phichit pouts. “They’re running out of adults to run to the ground, maybe.”)

The following morning after Yuuri is given his rank, he is summoned to the Minister Marshall’s quarters, where he accepts a medal and an insignia that he is required to wear on the sleeve of his uniform every day from then on. He tries to give the man a salute when he is dismissed, but the man is simply amused.

It’s as he’s leaving the room that he bumps into who he would later learn is one of the Lieutenant Generals under the General he had cured, the day before.

Yuuri is 21 when he falls in love.

(And while Yuuri once thought that love was sweet words and romantic gestures, the man proves him wrong by filling him with love that tastes of _silver_ and small whispers of _lyubov_ against his skin.)

*

Viktor Nikiforov is everything that Yuuri expected him to be but at the same time, isn’t. He is brilliant and talented and charming; he’s good with words and people and _music_ , and when he dances, it’s as if the world stops for a moment to appreciate the way he moves. While his body is all firm muscles and flat planes, the way he treats Yuuri is with nothing but soft caresses and gentle kisses.

When Yuuri is tired from shifts at the infirmary or from losing a patient, Viktor is there to lay him to bed and slowly piece him back together. Viktor doesn’t try to hold him together on his own – because no matter how strong he is, the storm in Yuuri will always be stronger.

Instead, Viktor holds Yuuri together with whispers of memories, of soft smiles and laughter, of a girl yelling at him to feed her brother, of a child who looks at him like he hung the moon. He holds Yuuri together with a pair of brown poodles curled around him like protective barriers, and kisses his tears away.

*

Yuuri is worried, at first, that Vicchan might not get along with Viktor, or with Viktor’s dog – a larger, more active version of Vicchan, called _Makkachin_ – but he didn’t have to worry because Vicchan and Makkachin hit it off. Vicchan seemed okay with having the other Viktor around so much of the time – likes it even better when he gets to cuddle between Viktor and Inaho, who manages to treat Viktor with a little less ice than he does with strangers.

(“Because you like him, Yuu- _nii_ , so I have got to like him, too,” Inaho says, one of the nights that neither Yuki nor Viktor joins them for dinner.

Yuuri sighs. “Nao, you don’t have to _like_ him just because I do. You’re allowed to judge people on your own, okay?”

“But I like him.” Inaho shrugs. “He’s funny, and if he’s at his rank, he must be good at his job, right?”

He smiles at his brother, before picking up a hand to run through his hair. “Finish up your food, and go feed the dogs. You have school tomorrow.”)

*

Yuki returns home one day with a drunk superior hanging off her shoulder, Viktor following faithfully behind her holding bags and… her shoes.

“Um,” Yuuri says, before scrambling to prepare the couch and some water because his mind at 3 AM is ill-prepared for dealing with drunk people. “Okay, what happened?”

“The Lieutenant got drunk,” Yuki says. “Leave him – he can take care of himself in the morning. Take care of your third pup instead.” She gestures tiredly at Viktor, who’s looking at him expectantly, still holding on to Yuki’s – and the Lieutenant’s, probably – things. He sighs, and then helps him put the things away, before leading him up to his room.

That night is the first night that they share a bed, and Yuuri is nervous until warm arms wrap around him and pull him to a strong chest. He relaxes, that it’s the best spot he has ever slept in his whole life.

In the morning, the Lieutenant is gone, and Yuuri goes through the ritual of making breakfast for four people, but that is the first night of many that he spends taking care of Lieutenant Koichiro Marito, who he finds funny and wholly misunderstood, almost as if he's Viktor's complete opposite. He is all rough edges and dark humor; he's alcoholism and - if it were available - drug dependence, but he still rises in the morning to fight another day, only to hope he'll sleep and that his demons leave him alone when he does.

*

Yuuri is 22 when he hears about them again for the first time: whispers about Martians, about the terror of their technology, about Heaven’s Fall from fifteen years ago. With where he works, he has heard a _lot_ more than whispers in the streets, but he has always believed that the peace would last: that nothing about what happened 15 years ago would happen again.

He grew up in an evacuation center with no one but survivors of that first attack, grew up hearing of the hatred and the loss and the anger, but he never felt it for himself. He thinks maybe it’s because he was too young when he lost his family, and he isn’t able to feel those emotions as deeply as the other survivors did; maybe it’s because he’s able to find not just a stopper for the pain but people who could _fill_ the hole their loss left behind.

So, when whispers of another war start cropping up in the streets, he tells himself that they aren’t real.

(He’s wrong.)

*


	2. Episode 1: Royalty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who decided to make this into a multichaptered fic?
> 
> English is not my first language, so grammatical and technical writing errors are abundant (i hope not). constructive criticism, random comments, plot suggestions are all definitely welcome
> 
> enjoyyyyyy
> 
> [EDIT 3/20] because i am a spazz, i apparently forgot to add over 1,200 words worth of the last part of the story. sigh. i've fixed it now.  
> [EDIT 10/22] reposting the chapter (again) because i forgot to write a character altogether - and i distinctly remember i wanted to write the character to honor his role in the episode. sigh

_It's my holy oath to raise hell._

 

* * *

 

“Good morning, Yuu- _nii_.”

Yuuri covers his mouth as it opens to a yawn, blinking his tired eyes against the light filtering in through the kitchen window. “Good morning, Nao,” he says. He automatically moves towards their radio, to find a way to fill their quiet morning. The machine is antique – he remembers it looks close to the one they had back at the inn in Hasetsu, large and loud, with antennas that reached halfway from its perch on the floor to the window. The loud static and feedback that greets him spooks him enough to jump, his brain immediately waking in alarm at the sound.

It wakes Vicchan, too, where he’s lying in his dog bed in the living room. He barks at the loud, irritating sound until Yuuri lowers the volume, daring to enter the kitchen only when Inaho calls him in with the promise of food. Yuuri kneels on the floor, letting the dog lick his face and scratching behind his ear before giving him a serving of his breakfast.

The broadcast clears up after some fiddling. After twiddling with the controls a little, a soft singing coming from the ancient speakers. It’s soothing to his nerves, the music gentle and flowing and talking about hope in a world that feels like it has abandoned her. He recognizes the singer as one of the newer, younger ones – makes sense that she’s singing about hope, then.

Five years after Heaven’s Fall the UFE began efforts of finally _normalizing_ society again – opening kindergartens and funding small businesses, releasing military communications technology to be developed more simply as social networks to connect the people of Earth… and reviving the entertainment industry. It was only three years ago that they were finally able to begin international broadcasts again, much to the relief of both the UFE and national governments. Movies, music, literature are now finally available across borders, something that the younger generation knows they are lucky to be able to enjoy.

He straightens up, squatting a few times to stretch his knees – which have gotten sore from kneeling on cold tiles – and sits down on the dining table, waiting for Inaho to finish preparing breakfast. “What would you have preferred,” Inaho says, “the omelet or scrambled eggs?”

Yuuri hums. “Scrambled eggs, I suppose.”

“Good.” Inaho serves him his plate – scrambled eggs, tomatoes, some lettuce, and toasted bread. They eat together in silence until Yuuri remembers that he has been asked to report earlier than his usual 8 AM today for a briefing regarding an oncoming peace event: the arrival of the Martian royal princess.

He sighs, finishing his breakfast and making himself a mug of coffee. “Isn’t Yuki in-charge of your drills today?” he asks. “She’s still asleep.” Vicchan sits by his feet, his tail thumping rhythmically on the tiles. Yuuri indulges him with pets and scratches, until he is satisfied and curls on top of his toes.

“I’ve tried waking her,” Inaho answers, fixing up their used plates and bringing them to the sink. “Will you be picking us up from the school?”

“Yes, provided I get out of the meeting on time.” He drains his daily dose of mana, leaving the cup on the sink. “See you later,” he says, bending down to pick up Vicchan – he’s bigger now, and heavier, but Vicchan will always be a puppy in Yuuri’s eyes – leaving the kitchen just as Inaho starts preparing a third serving of breakfast – for their sister, when she wakes up.

He kisses Vicchan’s nose and deposits him on the armchair – the only piece of furniture they’ve allowed him access to; it’s soft and warm, for the nights when the dog prefers to sleep in the living room and not on one of their beds.

When he gets back to his room, it’s to find it well-lit by the rising sun. It’s part of the reason he chose this bedroom among the three available when they bought the apartment. With the window facing East, he’d wake with the sun rising, warming him with its gentle morning rays, and rest at night with it setting on the other side. His breathing catches on nothing and for a moment, he feels surreal – but a blink and a heartbeat later reality crashes back with the tinny sound of an alarm. Yuki’s, probably, from her room across the hallway.

Yuuri frowns. He’ll try waking her before he has to leave for his meeting. Hopefully, he’ll be more successful than Inaho had been. She really needs to get a more effective alarm clock.

(For her, maybe. More often than not, it is he or Inaho who wakes with the sound of the stupid thing: loud and tinny, as if it was desperate to wake the whole block. It’s a good thing no one was living on the apartments on either side of theirs, because a noise complaint would be unpleasant, to say the least. Aside from that, it also distresses Vicchan to no end – he’d whine and bark and scratch at the door until Yuki wakes up or something kills the damned clock.

The closest they’ve ever gotten to one was when Lieutenant Marito – the same Lieutenant that Yuki and Viktor had dragged home, so many months ago – had slept over after a serious drinking session and woke up to the raging bells, nursing a hangover and ‘feeling like death kicked me over, brought me back to life, and kept me on the brink’.)

He takes a quick bath – barely feeling the warm water before he’s out again – and dresses in his uniform. They had finally been assigned their own uniforms, to differentiate them from other military personnel. It’s not the white scrub suit of his training, either – the Brass had decided that having people in _pure white_ would be far too noticeable, especially from their enemies’ perch in the air – and instead gave them thermal clothes and lightweight fatigues. He puts on the thermal undershirt first, before pulling the jacket over it and buttoning it up. His rank insignia had been sewn into the sleeve just a few days before, and he tries to move it to alleviate the itch caused by the stitches.

He knocks on Yuki’s door, after getting dressed and grabbing his medical supplies. When no answer comes, he opens the door slightly, taking a half step inside. “Yuki?” he calls, but it’s drowned out by the sound of her clock. “Yuki,” he calls, louder. “Wake up, you’re going to be late.”

A groan answers him, followed by a mumbled, “coming.”

Yuuri shrugs. Good enough. “Come on, get out of bed. Nao has breakfast ready.”

Another groan. The lump under the blanket squirms and moves, and, satisfied, he finally decides to leave. “I’ll take care of the dishes tonight,” he calls to Inaho. “Take care, and don’t play with the big guns, alright?”

“Yes, Yuu- _nii_. Take care.”

He kisses Vicchan’s nose again, murmuring a soft _bye_ to his baby’s fur before giving him one last belly scratch for the morning. He makes a mental note to take him out for a walk tonight – after dinner, maybe; on his last run, the pond in the park three blocks away had finally thawed. Maybe Vicchan would want to play in the water, and Yuuri will just run him a warm bath when they get home.

Vicchan licks his cheek and settles on the armchair again. Yuuri, satisfied, finally leaves the apartment. _Time to get to that meeting, then._

*

The meeting, as he expects, is boring.

For Yuuri, at least, since he never thought it relevant to him to study war strategies. _It’s a peace visit,_ he thinks. _Do they expect something to go wrong?_

His only consolation comes in the form of an arm snaking around his waist, pulling him to a warm, hard body.

“You’re late,” he murmurs, low enough that his voice is drowned out by the sound of his superior talking in front of an enlarged, projected map of Japan, a few roads lit with a blue highlight – the peace convoy parade’s route, from where the princess had been received in the UFE Embassy in Tokyo, to her first stop: here, in the United Forces of Earth Headquarters in Shinawara, Japan.

“I had to escort the Minister Marshall from the gates to his office,” Viktor murmurs back, his voice and breath very, _very_ close to Yuuri. He feels a blush rising in his cheeks, subtly shifting away from Viktor. It’s not that he dislikes the contact – he _enjoys_ it, even – it’s just that he feels uncomfortable showing how… cozy, he and Viktor are. Especially right in front of their colleagues.

Viktor’s arm tenses around him, but only for a moment – it drops away soon, and Yuuri immediately misses the contact. He doesn’t have time to think about it much as Phichit sidles up to his other side, tapping away at his tablet like his life depends on it.

“What did I miss?” he asks. “Anything important?”

“Well, the important part – for us, at least – is about to be announced, I think.” Yuuri squints up at the bright projection in front of them, moving from side to side to see around the tall bodies that block his view. “We are, obviously, on-duty the moment she reaches Shinawara, and… and we need to be ready to be flown out of Japan once she finishes her visit here.”

That gets Phichit’s attention, his head jerking up to the projection – it had zoomed out, now, showing a map of what used to be Asia. “Where…” he licks his lips. “Where to?”

Yuuri watches him for a moment, feeling a pang of… _something_ in his chest. He looks at the map just as his – and Phichit’s – squad is assigned to a foreign city: “Berlin,” he breathes. That’s… quite far. His eyes search for the other squads that they are to assist, glad to see a few familiar names, but not the names he expects… or wants to see. Berlin is the princess’s sixth and last stop, before she is to visit the UFE Main HQ in Russia.

That’s almost two months away, but they are set to leave to assist in preparation in six days – right after the Princess leaves Japan. He reaches for Viktor’s hand, just as he sees Viktor’s squad get assigned to –

“Russia,” Viktor murmurs. “Of course.” His hand, when it curls around Yuuri’s, is cold, but it remains gentle around his fingers. Yuuri gives it a squeeze, only half-listening now as he listens for Yuki’s – and Marito’s – assignments. When he looks to Phichit, it’s to find him simply standing there, staring at his – unlit – tablet, his eyes glassy and breathing deep.

The same pang of _something_ hits Yuuri again, and he thinks – Phichit must have been hoping, for news from Thailand, at least. They’ve heard nothing from the Thai government for _months_ – not even updates on the restoration efforts by the UFE. The peace convoy doesn’t even _glimpse_ at that part of the map, much less visit it – which either means that restoration is still underway… or it’s useless.

He reaches out and touches Phichit’s shoulder, his heart suddenly feeling heavy when Phichit looks at him and smiles – or tries to, at least, because the cheer does not reach his eyes, and his hand begins shaking where it’s grasping the tablet in front of him. “A free visit to Berlin, can you believe it?” Phichit asks. He looks from Yuuri to – Viktor, Yuuri decides, when he says, “and you get to visit Mother Russia!”

Viktor’s hand tightens almost painfully around Yuuri’s, and he feels a flash of fear that Viktor might lash out at Phichit – except he doesn’t. His hand relaxes a little, and he says, “I am not looking forward to the cold, without my Yuuri to warm me up, at least.” His voice is almost flat – but there’s an undertone there that Yuuri does not understand.

When Phichit smiles, this time, it’s smaller, but it reaches his eyes. There’s no spark, and his eyes seem dimmer, but his hands aren’t shaking anymore. He reaches out to squeeze Yuuri’s free hand, smiling slightly once more before he looks to the front, at their superior, who keeps talking.

“Are you okay?” Viktor murmurs, close, but not as close as before. “Your hand is cold, _lyubov_. Would you like to step outside for a moment?”

Yuuri looks up at Viktor with a smile, squeezing his hand and shaking his head. “I’m fine,” he says, but the strange feeling in his chest tells him he’s lying. “We need to listen, don’t we?”

Viktor watches him, his eyes searching Yuuri’s face for – something, which he seems satisfied to find, because he smiles one of his heart-shaped smiles and presses a quick kiss to Yuuri’s forehead. “Yeah, we should. I don’t want to have to read the report because I don’t know what to do.”

*

(Viktor ends up needing to read the report, anyway, because he is reassigned to the welcoming party in the Headquarters, instead of escort duty during the parade itself. He is still required to choose the drivers and guards, though, and he decides to give the most important job of driving the Princess’s car to his right-hand man, a fellow Lieutenant General called Feodore. He is young, and active – Yuuri likes him because he’s calm and doesn’t find the need to fill quiet moments with small talk and chatter.

“It’s not fair,” Viktor whines, when Yuuri visits his office to drop off lunch. “ _I_ wanted to see the Princess, too!”

Yuuri rolls his eyes, but a laugh leaves him as he presses a kiss to Viktor’s forehead. “Eat,” he says. “You’ll be able to see her when she gets to the Headquarters, Viktor.”

He pouts. “I want to see _you_ ,” he says instead, his arms coming up to wrap around Yuuri’s waist. “The Princess arrives in Tokyo tomorrow, so we’ll both be busy, and then, right after she leaves the country, they’re whisking you off to _Germany_.” When he looks up, his eyes are shining, and Yuuri immediately puts up his walls.

“Viktor, _no_ ,” he says, reluctantly stepping away from Viktor’s clutches and pointing at the reports – three more folders remain unopened, to Yuuri’s disappointment – on the table. “You need to finish reading those before you can leave.” He takes one more step back, farther from Viktor, who pouts even _harder_. “I’ll bring you dinner, alright?”

Viktor groans, and drops his head to the table. “When I was in school,” he says, “we learned about osmosis. I will find a way to make sure that it works with skulls and books.”

Yuuri snorts. “Good luck, Viktor. I’ll see you later.”)

(When he visits, later that night, bringing his and Viktor’s dinner, he also brings their babies – Makkachin leading Vicchan by the leash into Viktor’s office. Viktor, being the drama queen that he is, immediately kneels down and spreads his arms wide for the both of them – disregarding, entirely, that lint easily sticks to his uniform and he will have to face his subordinates and superiors later with fur sticking on it.

“Viktor,” he tries to say, to tell him to take his jacket off, at least, but the peaceful smile on Viktor’s face as he plays and coos makes him shake his head. He heads to the desk instead, leaving the package of food on the surface and surveying the chaos that are Viktor’s papers. At least he had finished reading three reports – just one more, and he’d be done for the night.  “Time to eat, Viktor,” he says instead, opening his parcel and setting them properly on the table.

He'll let Viktor relax, for now. He probably needs it.)

*

Yuuri wakes before the sun has even risen, the day that the Princess arrives in Japan. His senses seem hypersensitive to stimuli, and his heart beats hard in his chest. Vicchan is curled on his feet, snoring softly, only twitching when Yuuri retrieves his limbs from under the dog’s body. He remains asleep as Yuuri gets out of bed to prepare.

When he leaves his room – already prepared for the day, in his uniform – he finds Yuki leaving hers, as well, wearing her Officer’s uniform and her hair in a bun. Her smile is tight when she directs it at him, and he feels it his responsibility to make this day as comfortable for her as she can.

“What would you like for breakfast,” he begins, “an omelet or scrambled eggs?”

Yuki’s laugh, when it comes, is soft and breathy. “Omelet,” she says.

“Too bad,” Yuuri says, shrugging. “I’ve decided to cook scrambled eggs.”

She pulls him into a hug, after that – it’s a rare show of affection, and Yuuri decides to bask in it instead of push her away. The next few days, weeks, months will be stressful for the both of them – they probably won’t be able to see each other before he leaves for Germany. She remains stationed in Japan for the duration of the convoy, to their relief – they had no other relatives, aside from Takeshi and Yuuko Nishigori, who have gotten married – but with their hands full of _triplets,_ Yuuri would feel bad if they’d have to leave Inaho and Vicchan in their care, too.

He takes a deep breath and holds her close. The next time they see each other would be in three months’ time, probably – when the Princess has left Earth and the soldiers go home to their original designations before she came. She feels warm, in his arms – she’s warm, and strong, and he gets the sudden urge to murmur a grateful phrase, for everything that she has done for him: for being one of his most stable foundations and source of courage, while growing up; for sharing with him her home and family, and letting him be her home and family as well; for caring for her even when she had no obligation to, even when she herself had been a child burdened with the responsibility of caring for a toddling younger brother.

He decides to remain quiet, pulling his most sincere smile into his face as he moves away from her warmth, her safety. “Shall we go?” he asks, gesturing for the kitchen. Inaho will be awake soon – either used to being the one in charge of their morning nutrition, or from the noises he and Yuki will undoubtedly make as they prepare breakfast themselves.

The scrambled eggs are a success, but they taste different from Inaho’s, even though Yuuri is sure he prepared it the exact same way Inaho does.

“It’s lacking,” he despairs, staring at the spoonful of egg still in his plate, “but I don’t know what I didn’t put in there. Does Inaho have a special ingredient, or something?”

“He cooks with love, Yuu- _kun_ ,” Yuki teases, “but all _your_ love is probably in Viktor now, huh?”

Yuuri’s face explodes in heat, and he sputters out a denial. “Y-Yuki! Of course not, I still love you both!”

Yuki’s laugh is tinkering when it reaches him, loud and unabashed, unrestrained in its intensity. Something warm envelopes Yuuri at the sound of it – it spreads from his chest, to his stomach; up his throat and around his ears until he realizes that the strange strain on his cheeks is because he’s smiling so widely. He doesn’t try to erase the expression from his face, instead looking down at his plate again and finishing his breakfast. He’ll need all the nutrition he can get, since things are about to get busy.

“I’m gonna miss Nao’s breakfast,” Yuuri says. “I’m gonna miss my _baby_.”

Yuki’s laughter tapers off then, but she keeps smiling as she takes his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Vicchan will miss you, too, and – you’ll be back home in no time.”

Yuuri nods. “Yeah, I will.”

*

“You had breakfast without me,” Inaho says, when he enters the kitchen to find Yuki cleaning the dishes and Yuuri giving Vicchan his breakfast.

Yuuri says nothing, washing his hands and quickly drying them before wrapping them around Inaho, pulling him into a warm hug. “Take care of yourself,” he murmurs, “and of Yuki and of Vicchan.” He pulls away. “You know where Yuuko and Takeshi live, right? You have their contacts? If anything happens –”

“If anything happens, I’ll grab Vicchan and go to their house,” Inaho answers. “I know, Yuu- _nii_. I’ll take care.”

Yuuri smiles. “Okay, good.” He hugs Inaho again, quicker this time. “I’ll see you soon, baby brother.”

When Yuuri pulls away, there’s a pinch of annoyance on Inaho’s face – betrayed only by a small dip on his right eyebrow. He grins, unapologetic, before he leaves. He’ll let the Yuki handle him for now – he’ll have to rush, if he wants to catch Viktor. He wants to at least be able to kiss him before they lose all their free time.

*

“Makkachin will miss you,” Viktor whines, “and so will I.”

He opens his arms. Viktor pulls him in, their arms wrapping around each other and pulling each other close. “I’ll miss you,” he murmurs, feeling Viktor press a kiss to his temple. “Don’t forget to drop Makkachin off, Vitenka.”

Viktor freezes, and for a moment Yuuri feels like he did something wrong. Viktor groans, right then, and Yuuri stammers, rushing to apologize, only to be silenced by Viktor’s lips on his. “You call me… _that_ , when this might be the last time I see you for _months_?”

“Uh,” he begins, clearing his throat and hiding his blushing face on Viktor’s shoulder, “it was – Feodore said it… would be nice, if I… if I called you by a – diminutive?”

Viktor groans again. “It is. It’s nice. I’ll want to hear your voice every day. Call me every day, my Yuuri, please?”

Yuuri laughs. “Yes, I will. I’ll call you.”

They’re silent, after that, until Viktor pulls away and says, “say it again.”

*

The day is harsh. The weather had decided to turn on itself and drop temperatures, the winds battering their temporary tents so badly that Yuuri fears they might fall. Preparing for a foreign dignitary had been stressful as it was, when the American government decided to send a convoy to Japan, six months ago. Preparing for a royal foreign dignitary, from enemy lines no less, is far worse.

Tensions are running high and tempers explode every now and then – every detail needs to be scrutinized over, and over – from the schedule of arrival, to ensuring that while the military ensures it guards the Princess, they’re also allowing for civilian access – at least, for civilians to be able to _watch_ the convoy as it passes by, from sidewalks and overpasses.

Yuuri and Phichit are in the middle of their first aid refresher course when an announcement is made – the Princess has just arrived in the Tokyo HQ. The news that she is safe, at least for the moment, eases some of their worries – their superiors let them take a break, at least, from memorizing and drilling themselves with the way the program will flow from the moment she arrives in Shinawara at 8:07 AM, ETA.

Their break is short, and they’re called back to begin their drills again – only this time, it’s not in the temporary infirmary, but in the shooting range. Yuuri hesitates as he stands outside the square, austere building. He can hear loud pops and yelling from inside, fearing that if he steps into those doors the noise will overwhelm him and send him into a panic.

The medical team assembled in front of the range, standing in neat lines as teams, facing their superior officer: Dr. Celestino Cialdini, doctor of internal medicine. Unlike most of them – Yuuri included – Dr. Cialdini isn’t military personnel. He, like Phichit, studied medicine free of affiliations with the military, their enlistment coming only in light of their government being unable to sustain them any longer.

“Hopefully,” Dr. Cialidini begins, “you will never find need for the training you’re about to receive. You are medical professionals, and you know that what you are about to handle aren’t toys to mess around with.” He looks to his feet for a moment, before he looks up and says, “You also know how and where to best deal damage without completely killing off a hypothetical assailant.”

He clears his throat as he begins to walk around, hands behind his back.

“You’ll be instructed in assembling, disassembling, handling, cleaning, loading, and, finally shooting. At the end of the day, once your personal instructor is satisfied by your performance, you will be given your own personal handgun – to be used _only_ in the face of a dire emergency.” He stops walking, when he’s in front of all of us again. Murmuring have begun to erupt among the crowds, but it quickly dies down as he stares at all of them resolutely. His face is serious, and Yuuri takes note not to offend this man. “Am I understood?”

Like the good trained soldiers that they are, they all snap to a salute and answer with a resounding, “yes sir!”

*

Yuuri likes to believe he’s a fast learner. He has learned how to handle guns from Yuki, the first time she brought her personal handgun home – how to open the magazine to remove the bullets, how to put it back in; proper aiming and shooting posture – but never had he imagined himself learning about them as in-depth as he is now, staring at the – empty – gun in his hands.

“Now,” his instructor, Captain Sara Crispino, begins, “just as I showed you earlier – you can take it slow. Disassemble the gun, Sergeant Katsuki.”

Yuuri takes a deep breath, trying to calm his steadily quickening pulse. His hands, thankfully, are not shaking – but if he does not calm down, they soon will. It would be huge embarrassment if he drops the gun he’s supposed to handle.

He takes it as slowly as he possibly can – steadying his breathing and concentrating on the contraption in front of him – _that’s all it is, it’s a heavy, deadly contraption, come_ on _, Yuuri Katsuki!_

After successfully releasing the magazine, he sets it down, softly on the piece of cloth on the table. And then he begins with the barrel – the spring is oily when his fingers touch it, and he ignores the immediate sound crawling up his throat at the feeling – and puts the pieces one by one, in the order he removed them, on the table. Finally, he puts the body down, breathing deep in relief.

“That’s good,” Captain Crispino praises him softly, “better than I did, at least.”

Yuuri is about to answer when she brings out a second firearm – “this one’s mine,” she says – and quickly disassembles it, laying the parts down on the table beside his.

“I’m going to teach you how to clean your gun, now. Most firearms need the same care and implements, except the longer-barreled guns – those usually take more time to clean and disassemble than handguns. Are you ready?”

Yuuri’s fingers rub against each other. He feels the oil and rust on one fingertip, and this time, he can’t help the grimace. His instructor chuckles at his reaction and takes a piece of cloth, urging him to do the same. Yuuri breathes deep. There was obviously no getting out of this, so he might as well learn – and learn properly – to avoid having a malfunctioning firearm that may misfire. On him.

(He continues to ignore the fact that the military is having _them_ , enlisted medical personnel, learn how to shoot guns and probably _hurt_ people, which means that they’re expecting them to need the skill, which means the military is expecting something – a war, probably – to break out.

There’s a coldness that seeps through his feet when he remembers the rumors, about the Martians finally losing patience, more than ready to release their bloodlust to wage war against Earth. He had thought that those are false – why, then, would they send a _peace envoy_ , made up of their _Royal Princess_ no less, if they were spoiling for a war, anyway? It simply didn’t make sense!

It still makes no sense to him that he’s here, learning how to handle a gun that he will later learn how to shoot, because it was not in his prospects at all to want to learn how to protect himself in a situation dire enough that he would need a gun.)

*

It’s three in the morning, by the time Sara deems his aiming and shooting skills good enough for him to have his own. By then, his arms are sore from holding up the heavy firearm and catching the kickback; his legs are cramping from standing for so long, barely moving and tensing them to keep from falling on his bum; and his face is irritated from how long he’d had protective glasses and ear mufflers on as he practiced.

When Yuuri looks around, he’s surprised to find that he is, indeed, _not_ the last person to finish his training. He had feared that he’d be left behind because of his fear and inadequacy, maybe be the only member of the group _not_ to be allowed to handle a gun, but there are at least half a dozen more people still by the shooting range, being coached into aiming and shooting properly.

Their instructors are patient – never in the past fourteen hours had he heard any of them yell or lose patience with their students. Instead, they sounded patient; they gave instructions in low tones, and they answered questions bluntly but in a soothing manner.

He reaches the superiors’ table – he’s not really surprised to find Viktor, smiling up at him tiredly, holding a black and silver gun in one hand, holding it up to him. Captain Crispino is there, writing in a clipboard and talking to Dr. Cialdini in low tones, probably discussing Yuuri’s results.

“How are you?” Viktor asks him softly, catching is attention but refraining from touching him in front of Yuuri’s superior officers. “How was it?”

Yuuri tries to smile, but it feels strained, even to him – he is tired, and weary; he does not want to hold the gun Viktor is offering, and he does not want to face what being given this training implies – for him, his colleagues, his future. He keeps his eyes trained on the gun Viktor is proffering, fearing that if he looks at Viktor in the eye, he’ll lose it and start crying. He doesn’t even realize he’s sweating until his glasses start sliding down his nose; he pushes it up and regrets it immediately when his fingerprint stains the lens.

“Yuuri –“

Viktor is – thankfully – interrupted by Dr. Cialdini clearing his throat, getting both of their attention. “Sergeant Yuuri Katsuki, you will be the owner of firearm trace number XD96790. Ammunition, holster, and basic cleaning implements will be available to you upon exit.” He breathes out. “Dismissed, Sergeant.”

Yuuri’s heart stops beating when he takes the gun. It isn’t as heavy as the gun they’d practiced with; its grip is comfortable and it will be easy to conceal under his uniform in the morning. He salutes all three of his superior officers, sending Viktor a small smile, before he turns to go. He receives a box of basic gun care provisions when he exits – and finds Phichit still there, apparently waiting for him.

“You didn’t have to wait,” he says, stashing the gun inside the box with the rest of his items. Phichit’s own box sits on his lap, safely in the cover of his arms. “How long have you been here?”

“Not too long,” Phichit answers, shrugging as he stands. “Around half an hour. What kind of gun did you get?”

Yuuri tries to remember the lecture about firearms from early yesterday afternoon – frowning as he tries to classify his own gun. It comes to him slowly, his thoughts sluggish with weariness and exhaustion. “A… Beretta? I think. What about you?”

Phichit hums. “I got a Glock. Come on, let’s grab a bite and get some sleep. They set up cots in the mess hall.”

Temporary cots are not the most comfortable surfaces to sleep on, but it’s better than having to find a way back home. Besides, the Princess is set to arrive in Shin’awara in less than five hours. He needs all the rest he can get. He follows behind Phichit silently, his feet dragging and his arms complaining from the weight of his load, but he perseveres.

*.*

Yuuri Katsuki is 22 years old when he wakes up in a military base mess hall, his back and legs aching from gun training, and a Princess from Mars comes to visit as a show of goodwill. The sun hasn’t even risen yet, when he is roused from the light doze he had fallen into and forced to prepare himself for the day.

 _It’s_ the _day,_ he thinks. _You’ve been preparing for this day for weeks,_ months _even._

He dons a clean thermal undershirt, and then pulls his jacket over. It still smells of detergent and only slightly of sweat; he believes he’ll live. He watches as Phichit loads his gun and secures it in a holster by his waist, only barely remembering to do so himself. He doesn’t find a belt, but he does find one that’s smaller; only when he holds it up to Phichit does he figure out that it’s supposed to go around his thighs.

So much for concealing his gun, then. Everyone else around them are getting ready for the day as well, so Yuuri and Phichit decide to get out of the mess hall. They find a long table in the courtyard, filled with light but filling food: breakfast, for the trying day ahead. Yuuri takes a cup of coffee and a power bar quickly when he notices Viktor standing a little ways away.

“Excuse me,” he murmurs to Phichit, rushing to Viktor’s side.

“ _Yuurochka,_ ” Viktor breathes, when he sees Yuuri. He is stunned, for a moment, before his heart starts racing and he flushes. He allows Viktor to wrap his arms around his body, glad to be in his arms before they separate for their own duties. “How did you rest?”

“Terribly,” Yuuri admits, “but better than I expected. How are you?”

Viktor sighs. “We’ll be busy today.” He presses a kiss against Yuuri’s hairline before letting him go. “Here’s for the best, Sergeant Katsuki.”

Yuuri understands immediately. He drains his cup and places it on the ground, the bar having been consumed on his way to Viktor. He stands straight and salutes his lover – and for now, superior officer. “Be well, Lieutenant General Nikiforov.”

Viktor dismisses him and walks away. Yuuri allows himself to admire the man, before he, too, turns back to look for his platoon, to see if they have any final instructions before they are given their duties.

To his surprise, as his newly formed platoon’s leader, he is assigned to traffic duty – made to stand under the sun holding green and red flags to redirect other vehicles and keep the parade route open. Phichit is stationed in the emergency tent close to him, the radio blasting live updates from their superiors as to the whereabouts of the princess.

Around an hour after they arrive, his radio bursts to life. “ _Anzu leader to Broxa leader, Cygnus leader, do you copy?”_ Yuuri blinks. Anzu is the first platoon to encounter the Princess and her escorts.

“Cygnus leader to Anzu leader, copy,” he says into his radio. “Anzu leader, status?”

“ _Princess and convoy spotted, nothing suspicious here,”_ the voice returns. “ _Point of interception in 3 – 2 – 1 – ”_

_“Broxa leader to Anzu leader, Cygnus leader: Princess and convoy spotted. Interception complete.”_

Yuuri takes a deep breath as a tingle of anxiety begins to boil in his blood. “Cygnus platoon, at the ready,” he calls to his platoons, who all stand in attention at his instruction. With the way things had gone, Yuuri doubts anything will happen.

He takes his radio.

“Cygnus leader to Daramulum leader, do you copy?”

“ _Daramulum leader, copy._ ”

“Princess and convoy are passing Point B. Prepare for interception.”

“Copy.”

He does not see the first missile. Broxa platoon’s leader was barely able to inform them about the convoy’s whereabouts when he feels the ground shake and starts hearing the screaming.

_“Broxa leader to all platoons – attack ongoing! I repeat – there’s – it’s a fucking missile – ”_

Yuuri’s heart stops beating for a moment before he takes his radio again. His hands are shaking. “Cygnus leader to all leaders,” he says “have the rest of your platoons evacuate civilians. Anzu, Broxa, civilian lives are your priority. Daramulum platoon to Point C, _now_.”

He turns to his platoon – half of whom are standing in shock, staring at him as if he could answer their questions.

Yuuri sees the second missile. “Cynus platoon! Track the white vehicle, _whatever happens, you must know where it goes.”_

Yuuri hears something and he yells when something jerks his arm – pulling him back and away from a black escort car that was tumbling on the asphalt. The Princess’s vehicle emerges from the smoke – along with two more black vehicles, much to his relief.

It’s short lived, when he notices two more missiles, coming straight for –

“Cygnus platoon, _scatter!”_ he yells, watching as his platoon scatters into different directions, running as fast as they can. He grabs Phichit’s arm and pulls him along as they run parallel to the vehicles now being targeted by the missile. One of the black cars do not survive the explosion, and the other one ends up hitting a barricade.

“Elwetritsch platoon, the convoy is taking a detour and heading straight for Point E, _intercept_ – ”

 _“Elwetritsch leader, copy_ ,” he hears, but then he hears nothing more when something explodes.

It exploded too close to them, rendering him deaf and disoriented, sense of balance gone and unable to control his body in order to get moving, to talk, to _anything_. The heat is so intense that he already feels sweat forming, but he cannot do anything about it, can’t get _away_ –

Horror and dread fills him as he watches the white vehicle spin out of control. He can hear frantic words in his radio, footsteps and screams, but they all seem far away. He tries to move, and is successful in turning his body – towards the upturned vehicle.

Desperation cloys his throat, when from the corner of his eye, he sees another missile, flying above their heads. He concentrates on the car – he’s close by now. If he could get to the car before the missile reaches them, he can save the Princess. Finally, a burst of adrenaline pushes his body to move – he screams when the door opens and a girl crawls out of the car, looking dazed and disoriented.

“ _Get up!”_ he yells, too desperate to think that _that’s a damned princess_. “You have to get up, there’s another missile coming for you!”

It’s a girl with beautiful, long, blonde hair, and a white dress fit for a Western wedding. It’s a strange time to remember the old magazines that they used to keep in their inn in Hasetsu to entertain guests while they waited or drank in the living room, but he will never be able to forget the beautiful white dresses. He had asked his sister if he could maybe wear one one day, not thinking for a moment that _one day_ might be like this.

(That it might be like this – filled with fighting and wars and strange technologies; with robots and peace ambassadresses and _assassination attempts_.)

His horror rises when he sees the missile from the corner of his eyes. She blinks and then it’s as if she’s seeing him for the first time, her eyes widening when she registers the words he’d been screaming at her – _get up, get out, missile is coming._  When their eyes meet, Yuuri’s only thought is, _those are not the eyes of a princess. Those are the eyes of a terrified girl._

He’s close, now, and the girl was able to crawl far enough from the car. He stretches his hand out. He’ll crawl her out of that place if he has to. He hears screaming, and there’s someone yelling his name, but he ignores them – he feels his strength failing him, but he will _fight_ , his own body if he has to –

It’s too late.

Before everything burns, Yuuri sees her – the girl, the princess – smile up at the sky, and then at him. He tries harder to get close, but he is nothing to the strength of the explosion. He is flung thirty feet away, his body unable to fight the force treating it like a rag doll. He rolls on the pavement, losing his glasses along the way. Something hard and harsh hits his head, but the pain is just one of so many – it disappears in a long line of _pain pain pain pain painpainpainpainpain_ that his brain sings in agony.

He thinks he sees Viktor, coming toward him with a soft smile on his face. It’s the last thing he remembers before he loses consciousness.

*

Yuuri opens his eyes and finds himself still on the pavement, but this time, Phichit is there with him, his eyes filled with tears.

“Yuuri!” he screams, when he sees that Yuuri has opened his eyes. “Oh, thank _god_ ¸ you were so close to the car, I thought you’d _died_ —“

“I could have saved her,” he croaks, as he feels himself tear up as well. “I could have saved her, but I didn’t. I couldn’t, Phichit. Why didn’t I? I should have saved her, she was a _Princess_ —”

“Yuuri, _enough_ ,” Phichit says. “There’s nothing we can do about it now. We have to get back to HQ. Can you walk?”

Yuuri thinks he can’t, but he doesn’t tell Phichit that. Instead, he nods, accepting Phichit’s help to get to his feet. He almost falls, but Phichit catches him around the waist – slowly but surely dragging him to the direction of their headquarters. He does not look at the cordoned wreckage that they pass by, closing his eyes to ignore it – but there’s no forgetting the image of a young girl, smiling at him right before she dies.

Another thought bugs him, fluttering in the back of his head - another face, another name, but one he does not immediately recognize, because it's always superimposed with the face of a little girl, _smiling_.

That image will stay with him forever, and he knows that he deserves it. He deserves to be punished, too – what would they do with him? Will they throw him into prison? Or will they turn him over to the Martians, for not being able to save their Princess? Either way, he will probably never be able to see Viktor or Inaho or Yuki again. He hopes they’ll let him bring Vicchan, at least. He’ll miss his dog. He’ll take his punishment, whatever it is.

Because he killed her, didn’t he? He killed the Princess, because he didn’t save her when she was _right there_ –

Yuuri is tired. He wants to stop thinking, to stop feeling. He wants to tell Phichit to just leave him on the road. They’ll find him eventually – it’s not like it’d matter. His chest is hurting, but it’s dull and it’s like he’s feeling it from an outsider’s point of view. He couldn’t really understand what was happening, but Phichit was still dragging him to the Headquarters. What would Viktor think, if he saw Yuuri? He’d probably be disgusted.

Viktor could have saved the Princess, if he was the one there, in his shoes. Viktor would have died trying, but Yuuri didn’t.

What would Yuki think? What about Inaho? He’s sure they’re all disappointed in him, now. They surely find him inadequate and weak and unable to do anything _right_. It would do them so much better had he just died with her, during one of the explosions. He would still have killed her, but at least he wouldn’t be around anymore to see the disappointment, the anger, the hatred.

*

_I’m Viktor Nikiforov, and you are adorable. Would you like to join me for dinner?_

*

 _It’s for self-defense_ only _. Be safe, everybody._

*

 _He’s a great dog, isn’t he, Yuu-_ chan _? He wins at being a cute puppy, so why don’t we name him Victor? It means winner, in English. Don’t you think he’s a winner?_

*

“…ri. _Yuuri_.” Yuuri groans. “Oh, god, good, you’re awake. Don’t sleep, okay? We have to check for a concussion – Yuuri?”

*

When Yuuri regains consciousness, he finds himself on a bed. His wounds don’t sting as much as they did, and he feels clean – he touches his forehead and finds bandages wrapped around them. His hands have plasters and his sight is blurry – he remembers that he lost his glasses when he was flung away from –

He hunches over the side of the bed and loses the meager contents of his stomach. There’s nothing there, unsurprisingly, and the acidic bile burns his nose and throat as he heaves. The splash it makes on the tiles of the floor is disgusting and loud in the silence of the room.

His heart is beating, too fast, in his chest, and it’s beginning to hurt again. His head is spinning, and his mouth feels like cotton – he’s probably not breathing anymore, is he? Will he die like this? He clutches at his chest, imploring his heart to stop beating so fast and so hard, and he fails. He can’t breathe. His throat hurts, and there’s a loud sound coming from somewhere – it’s too loud, but his thoughts are even louder. Why is no one _stopping that sound_ –

When something holds him down, he screams – and he realizes that he has been screaming, that the loud sounds stressing him out had been coming from _him_ , he’d been screaming for who knows how long, that’s why his throat hurts –

“ _Sergeant Katsuki,_ calm down!” a voice says, but he can’t, he shakes his head – he still can’t breathe and he can’t move, why are they restraining him, is this his punishment for killing the princess? Is this how he’s going to _die_?

Something catches his attention, but flits away almost immediately. Something cold slithers in his bloodstream, and his heart seizes in fear – he tries to struggle more, but the cold is getting to him. His thoughts are coming slower, and he realizes that his body is sluggish; he shivers, maybe, but he can feel that his voice is failing him. It’s too cold, now, and he wishes it would stop – he needs a blanket, a jacket, _anything_ to warm him up, because he can’t possibly survive the ice that’s in his blood.

His, Yuuri. Torture? Cold…

*

Yuuri’s mind is slow, when it comes back to him – he’s not cold anymore, and he realizes that he must have been sedated. He must have only been gone a few hours – he still feels strangely sluggish and his brain is still slow on the update; the drug must still be in his system. Either that, or he was given a high dose – unlikely, seeing as this must be the first time this has happened.

He tries to move his fingers and he finds that he can’t – when he looks, it’s to find Viktor asleep on his bedside, one of his hands in both of Viktor’s. He looks tired – there are circles under his eyes and he isn’t wearing his usual uniform. He’s wearing thermal fatigues, with the logo of the UFE on the sleeve.

His twitching hand must have woken Viktor, since he jerks up and looks at Yuuri, his eyes filled with worry and concern. For some reason, Yuuri feels like Viktor shouldn’t feel that way – that he shouldn’t be concerned and that Yuuri did something very bad, very wrong. It takes too much effort to remember _what_ , though, so he simply smiles and says, “hi.”

It’s as if Viktor’s strings are cut. He relaxes, his face immediately lighting up with one of those heart-shaped smiles of his. “Hi, baby, how are you feeling? Are you in pain?”

“No,” Yuuri croaks. He frowns. “Water?”

Viktor blinks and, faster than Yuuri has ever seen her before, he moves to give Yuuri a glass of water. It tastes strange – almost sweet, but not enough that it’s bitter. He can’t put his finger on it, but his face must have shown his distaste because Viktor chuckles. “It has the same components as dextrose,” he murmurs. “You’ve been out for almost ten hours, and you didn’t eat anything for breakfast this morning.”

Yuuri doesn’t like how it tastes, but when Viktor pushes the cup to his lips, he still opens up and swallows a mouthful. It’s cool on his tongue and hurting throat, and it isn’t really that horrible – he just doesn’t like that _water_ tastes like something… clearly not water.

“Can’t think,” he whines, pouting when Viktor chuckles again. He’s too far, now, leaning back on his chair, for Yuuri to see him clearly. “Can’t see you.”

Viktor moves closer, and Yuuri feels the bed dip beside him. “Rest, _solnyshko,_ you must be tired.”

The way his hands brush Yuuri’s face and hair is soothing, but something bothers him. He knows it must be important – it _should_ be important, at least?

He decides that he hates drugs. “Yes, _lyubov?”_ Viktor asks, and Yuuri realizes he must have been calling his name. “You must rest, please?”

“No,” Yuuri says, prolonging the word with his frustration. There is something _important._ “I…” he frowns. “Princess? The Princess is dead,” he realizes. “Missiles.”

“ _Solnyshko_ ,” Viktor says, and he sounds like he’s choking on something. Yuuri frowns at him.

“I…” he blinks. “I killed the Princess?”

When he looks at Viktor again, he _remembers_ – he remembers that Viktor shouldn’t be too concerned for him, because he killed the Martian Princess, and finally, he recognizes what Viktor is wearing.

Kataphrakt pilot gear.

Viktor is wearing gear that will protect him from the harsh environment of the Kataphrakt cockpit – meaning Kataphrakts and their pilots are needed because…

Because the Martian princess is dead, he couldn’t _save her_ , and they must think that the UFE assassinated her and are attacking Earth as he lays here, unmoving on his hospitable bed. His thoughts scramble, and he feels like there's something _important_ that he keeps forgetting - but _what the hell_ could be more important than the fact that he killed a _darn princess_?

His mind, his _heart_ tells him there's someone else he's forgetting, someone that he needs to remember at all costs, but for the life of him he couldn't remember who.

He sobs, and Viktor crumbles. “Oh, _lyubov_ , you didn’t kill the Princess,” he murmurs. “You didn’t do anything wrong – you tried to save her, baby, please don’t cry.”

“Are they coming for us?” he asks, his sobs rendering his words almost incomprehensible. “Are they?”

Viktor kisses his forehead. “Landing Castles are descending to Earth,” he whispers. “We’re evacuating civilians as we speak. The first ship has just left Japan for Russia.”

A Landing Castle – great. The Martians are coming to get them, and they’re here to destroy Earth, once and for all. From what little he knows about Martian technology, Landing Castles are just as big a threat as the Martian Kataphrakts themselves, owned by the nobles of Mars.

If several are landing on Earth, it’s a matter of time before all of UFE’s forces are forced to fight – including Viktor, and Yuki, and if they’re desperate enough, the reserve forces, too. Children, like – like Inaho. He cries even harder, pressing his face against Viktor’s clothes.

 _I could have stopped this,_ he screams in his head. _I could have saved her, and we wouldn’t be facing this. Why didn’t I? I let her die!_

It's that thought that finally triggers his memories, of a calm young man who opens Viktor's office for him when he knocks in the middle of the night; who shares a glance whenever Viktor's antics cause total unproductivity; it's a face that smiles at him when he says, _'Call him Vitenka, some time, I'll assure you it will win you his heart all over again_.'

 _Feodore,_ he thinks. Feodore was in that car's driver seat. He was probably desperate to save the princess's life, when the first missile struck their vehicle. He remembers the girl’s face, gazing at the sky before smiling at him. She did not seem sad, or hostile – she seemed serene, almost… happy, in a way.

Yuuri is 22 and crying in the arms of his lover when the sky starts burning, opening to a rain of stars that are set to destroy him and his world, once and for all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter, if you've noticed, follows the events of the first episode. i'm hoping to do that with the rest of the chapters as well - follow each A/Z episode to a certain point, to fix several plotholes _and_ integrate characters from another fandom entirely.
> 
> platoon names (Anzu, Broxa, Cygnus, etc.) were all named after mythical birds, following the AZ pattern of naming Kataphrakt platoons after mythical horses.
> 
> ALSO i messed up Yuki's name AND age in the prologue. While i can fix the name, i can't do anything about the age - considering the canonical setting, they're actually the same age. for the sake of this AU, and my sanity, i will retain the status of their ages, but i will now spell Yuki with a single 'u'
> 
>  
> 
> (please point out my errors in plot, worldbuilding, characterization, and grammar. i suck at all of those lol)


	3. Episode 2: Beyond Our Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OCs abound in a story with 2 fandoms, apparently
> 
> i need more creativity, lol
> 
> [EDIT 2/29]: because i don't double check, i completely forgot to update the backup chapter i've put on AO3 that had an incomplete sentence. thanks @paperflies for pointing it out!!!  
> [EDIT 10/22] Fixed continuity issue on Feodore; added details on scenes that would make no sense to Yuuri (since it's via his POV); Fixed timeframe from one day to a few hours within each event; added detailed description of Yuuri's physical ailments that are realistic of his ordeal; describes the other Kataphrakt units with more details; improved some scenes; ALSO: merged the two-chapter episodes into one chapter to save up on chapter count
> 
> the next chapter's going to be posted this weekend at the latest (i might be moving, f i n a l l y)

_Your hands have nothing to cling on to._

* * *

 

Yuuri does not know how long they stay that way. Viktor had climbed into his bed, the wall to his back and Yuuri curled on his front. It feels comforting, and comfortable, to be in Viktor’s arms like this—it makes Yuuri feel safe and secure.

It feels like it’s the last safe space that Yuuri will ever experience again. It takes him a long time to stop crying—he still feels like he is, even when he’s too dried up for tears and too exhausted to sob; until he’s not even a hundred percent sure why he started crying in the first place. The parade, yesterday’s gun handling training, breakfast this morning… all of it seems so far away in his present state of mind. At some point, his head had lolled back unto Viktor’s shoulder, and he had started staring blankly at the ceiling above him.

He wants to leave the room, to experience the outside world one more time.

(He wants to see Vicchan, he wants to see the sea, to play in the water and build sandcastles on the shore; he wants to go back home, to his little hometown, to walk through the narrow streets and walk up the stone steps of Hasetsu one more time. He wants to visit his family’s inn, to take a dip in their _onsen_ , to laugh with their guests and dance in the small dining room while the television blares advertisements in between programs.

He wants to go _home_ , to _kaa-san_ and _tou-san_ and Mari and Minako—he wants to not be where he is, to be the Yuuri that’s miserable and sad and who didn’t save a Princess’s life.)

_I don’t want to die._

He takes Viktor’s hands in his, feeling Viktor tighten his hold around Yuuri’s waist, as if, if he holds Yuuri tight enough, maybe he won’t fall apart. _Is this the last time I’m ever going to be this warm?_

Despite what Viktor had told him, he does not believe that the military would simply let his mistake and weakness go unpunished. He might not have set those missiles on the Princess, but he might as well have killed her with his own hands, considering he was so close but he still wasn’t able to save her, get her out of danger in time.

( _I was right there,_ he tells Viktor in his mind, silent and begging. _I was just a few meters away and I would have been able to save her, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t help her, not even after Feodore worked so hard to avoid those missiles, after they got hit by that first one._

 _How could you stand to look at me?_ he screams at Viktor. _How could you ever look at me again and not see me as the man who killed your friend, your anchor in the sea of transitioning from Russia to Japan?_

He knows how close Viktor and Feodore had been, how Feodore helped Viktor stabilize his career, and now he’s gone, and Yuuri couldn’t even honor his sacrifice by saving the one person Feodore _died protecting._ )

A part of him tells him he’s not _that_ important, that his role in the assassination was small, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Still, a bigger, heavier part of him tells him that he deserves nothing less than to be put down like an animal for not being able to fulfill his one duty to this fragile peace created in his lifetime. He deserves to be used, if not as anything, then as a scapegoat to mete out justice, and to balance out a death for another, even though his life means way less than a princess’s.

He’s despondent and nonresponsive, not even to Viktor’s soft voice calling for his attention. He simply closes his eyes and wishes he can go back to sleep, wishes he can ask for some sedatives again. At least while he was under the influence of the drug he’d been able to sleep without nightmares or thoughts plaguing him at every turn, at every rationalization; there’s no voice in his head telling him that he does not deserve to live a day longer.

He only steers when an Airman rushes into the sickbay – freezing at the sight of them, and then awkwardly pulling into a salute after a pause – to tell Viktor that the first wave of civilians has been evacuated and are now waiting in line to get on ships. Yuuri tries to recognize the man – boy, really, he can’t be any older than 18 – but his eyesight has not gotten any better. It probably won’t until he’s able to get his hands on a pair of glasses again, and he’ll have to live with being blind as a bat to anything farther from his face than the tip of his nose. _I won’t have to worry about that anymore, though, do I?_ he thinks wryly.

“Both Lieutenant General Nikiforov and Sergeant Katsuki are being requested at the Control tent, sir,” the Airman finishes, his posture rod-straight and his gaze on the wall to Yuuri’s and Viktor’s right – as far away from them as respectable to people – _superiors,_ even – as possible. From the angle he’s laying at, Yuuri thinks that the Airman’s eyes must be brown. _Asian descent, then? Probably explains why he looks young._

“At ease,” Viktor says, and the Airman relaxes somewhat – he still does not look at them, though, and Yuuri is not sure whether to feel good or bad about it. “Please tell General Wakamiya that we will be there as soon as possible.”

The Airman salutes one more time, before he rushes off again, not sparing a glance at the two men tangled in a single military cot. Yuuri sighs and moves off of Viktor, sitting up on the side of the bed and waiting for Viktor to do the same. He reckons it’s time to face his fate: at least, whatever fate the military decides him to live… or not. At the very least, it’s out of his hands, now.

“How are you feeling, _lyubov’_?” he Viktor softly, his hand reaching up to fix Yuuri’s hair. It had fallen to his face during his episode, and it falls back to his forehead when Viktor takes his hand away. At least it falls a little artfully, now, instead of looking like a rat’s nest. He smiles at Yuuri a bit, when Yuuri looks at him. He looks tired, and he hasn’t even started fighting yet.

Yuuri feels pride for Viktor surge in his chest – for Viktor’s strength, his character, his ability to be completely human. He wonders how Viktor is managing helping Yuuri through his grief when he has yet to deal with his own, wonders just how much _good_ a person has to have in his chest to be able to sacrifice their own well-being to ensure those of others’.

Yuuri takes his hand. “I’ll be fine.” He sniffles. “We better go, General Wakamiya isn’t known to be the most patient of men.”

*

The walk from the sickbay to the Control Tent is quiet, filled only by the sound of their footsteps and by the occasional sound of yelling around them. Surprisingly, there’s less of that than he expected; he suspects that all the noise and yelling would be on the other side of the compound, where they keep tanks and their Kataphrakts in the armory.

Yuuri keeps his eyes on the ground in front of him. He’s afraid that, if he looks around and enjoys his surroundings too much, he’s going to regret not fighting for his life more vehemently. _Just like always,_ his Critic-Yuuri voice whispers, _you’re just going to let them walk all over you, like you’ve always done, you coward._

“Shut up,” he hisses out loud, smiling at Viktor when he looks over curiously. _How do you think he would feel if he found out that you argue with a voice inside your head on a regular basis, huh?_

Viktor does not let go of his hand until Yuuri pulls away.

They’ve reached the Tent, and he would rather avoid any actions that may make him the target of more scorn. The command tent has been set up in the middle of the compound, between the barracks and the armory, the canvas of the tent itself hanging on nylon strings attached between the two buildings. Lamps and other lighting fixtures have been hung from wooden posts hammered into the ground, lighting up the space and warming it at the same time. Wires run around in all directions underfoot, making it a tripping maze for running soldiers, powering computers, screens, radios, and the occasional charging dock.

Yuuri’s hand itches to hold Viktor’s again, for the small piece of comfort that Viktor’s touch always brings him. When they touch, Yuuri always feels warm. There’s no fear, no guilt, no scorn, in the intimate affection that they share. It’s pure, warm, and nurturing; it’s something that a lot of people probably wish they could have, but couldn’t.

_Too bad that I’m losing it, huh? I was never meant to have it in the first place, was I?_

The tent, when he looks around, is filled with all of the people. Yuuri cannot believe that all of these people are his superiors – or that all of them were able to fit in a space that was made for a table and three people. Even from the distance at where he’s standing, he recognizes the snowy white hair of the Minister Marshall – it nearly glows, in the dim lighting of the Tent, lit by the giant LED monitors behind him. How they were able to set this up, Yuuri will probably never understand. He also recognizes Dr. Cialdini in his trademark ponytail – held higher on the back of his head than usual, and wearing a strangely-designed military uniform.

 Viktor leaves his side and sidles up to two men near the front of the tent – one of them, the blond, immediately wraps an arm around his waist upon recognizing him. Yuuri is surprised at the painful, nearly crippling jealousy that lances through him – which only worsens when Viktor laughs and wraps an arm around his shoulder.

He recognizes the other man as the man who helped him during his operation on that general from the broadness of his shoulders, but he can’t seem to place the blond one. Another Lieutenant General, then? _Probably explains why they’re on friendly terms._

The rationalizing thought does nothing to alleviate the pain that’s nearly crushing Yuuri’s ribcage, though, and he would’ve started questioning whether it was really simply emotional in nature when it lightens, a bit, as Viktor leaves the man’s side to come back to him. Viktor is about to wrap an arm around Yuuri— _that’s been around another person._

Pain lances through Yuuri again, and he sidesteps the hug. Viktor looks hurt, confused; Yuuri feels a little vindicated, but he decides to look in front as the Minister Marshall stands to take their attention. The buzzing room comes to a standstill, all eyes on the most powerful man in the small space. Yuuri almost feels as if he’s suffocating again, when the man’s eyes meet his.

“Sergeant Katsuki,” he says, his voice loud and clear despite his obvious age, “please, come forward.” His gaze is unwavering, his posture regal and demanding to be obeyed. He must be used to his position already – there’s no hesitance in his movements as he follows Yuuri’s walk to the front of the room silently with his eyes.

_He’s probably used to executing his own personnel, too._

He takes a deep breath before finally standing on attention, pulling his arm up on the snappiest – _last,_ his mind chants – salute he could make. The man studies him and his posture and – Yuuri nearly flinches. The man is correcting the way he’s standing – putting his shoe between Yuuri’s, tapping his elbow just _that_ much higher, angling his lower arm in the proper salute.

“There you are, soldier,” he murmurs. There’s a _soft_ look in his eyes that Yuuri does not understand nor recognize, but it is hidden immediately when the man turns to the rest of the room. When he speaks again, his voice is once more loud and clear; gone is the almost paternal tone he had used on Yuuri, and back is the Minister Marshall who fought and survived the original Martian attack nearly 15 years ago. “As of today, you are promoted to Master Sergeant for your valiant effort in keeping peace and attempting to save the life of a foreign Ambassadress.”

Yuuri blinks. He does not react immediately. He cannot, for the life of him, understand what he’d just heard. In an action punishable by 200 push-ups from their drills instructor, he drops his salute without being eased by his superior officer and _gawks_.

*

“I kill a Princess and they promote me,” he hisses to Phichit, “how is this setting an example for other people?”

“You’re the lowest ranked personnel here, Yuuri,” Phichit whispers back, his phone lit up on front of him. He is, obviously, not paying attention to what is being said in front of them. He glances up, to Yuuri’s collar, where his new insignia had been pinned before he was dismissed from the stage. The insignia feels strange, heavy where it’s attached; feeling more like a noose around his neck than a symbol of his so-called bravery. Phichit grins. “At least, you _were_.”

“ _Phichit._ ”

Loud static and feedback interrupt their conversation, making Yuuri jump where he stands. He could feel Viktor’s gaze burning the back of his head but he doesn’t dare look back. He hasn’t been able to look at Viktor since that episode of jealousy; he doesn’t think he could stand to survive another shameless side of him being exposed to his perfect, understanding lover.

“Yuuri,” Phichit says, “if you’re fighting with Lieutenant General Nikiforov, try not to involve me, okay?” He pauses. He puts his phone down for a moment in a rare show of seriousness to meet Yuuri’s eyes. “I really don’t want to die in my sleep.”

Yuuri feels scandalized – and, frankly, a little insulted. It doesn’t matter that he’s… well, _fighting_ with Viktor, they’re still partners and they’re still supposed to support and defend each other. “He’s not going to do something like that, Phichit. If he wanted to kill you he would, in broad daylight. While the rest of us are watching.”

Phichit shudders. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

General Wakamiya’s voice cuts through any further words that Yuuri would have said, replacing his amusement – and _relief_ , the intense amount of utter, sweet relief that he wasn’t _dying_ – with dread.

General Wakamiya, from the time Yuuri had been in school, was always an intimidating man. He wasn’t overly tall, but his mere presence made up for what he lacked in height. His hair, Yuuri knows, is dark brown – matching the darkness in his eyes completely. Although he is a general, in-charge of over 6000 officers and personnel, and teaching at the military academy and local high school when he has time, General Wakamiya is young – he had been 20, a fresh graduate of the military, just married and waiting for his first child to be born when Heaven’s Fall happened.

Sometimes Yuuri tries to picture him the way he had been, from the stories he had heard from the soldiers when he was growing up. Their description of him from their time in school seems too different to how he is now – he’s jaded, calculating, merciless in his pursuit of peace and justice. The man was probably handsome, in his youth, before the war – not that he isn’t now, of course. If anything, the scar that runs from his temple, across his face and down to his upper lip, adds to his appeal as a soldier – compounded with the uniform, the regality, and presence. Yuuri balks at his own thoughts.

He thinks it’s kind of poetic, in a morbid sense, how the world changed people even on a microlevel base.

“As of 1500 JST, four Martian Landing Castles have been spotted to be descending into earth’s atmosphere. Two of these are believed to land at 1900 JST – one in New Orleans, in the United States of America; the other in Beijing, in Mainland China.” He pauses, and for a reason, the heavy dread in Yuuri’s stomach feels heavier, colder; he begins to feel the strain of his injuries from getting flung on concrete from a missile blast, and his bandages begin itching where they’re wrapped tight against his skin.

His fears are proven valid when the General speaks again.

“Out of the four Landing Castles, one is headed straight for Tokyo. It is estimated to arrive tomorrow at 0800 JST; hopefully, all civilians have been pulled out of the country and as far away from the mainland as possible by then. We have direct contact with the bridge at the Main Russian Headquarters for communication and instruction from General Hakkinen, who leads the whole of the UFE Military Arm.”

Yuuri can barely breathe, much less so when the LED screens behind the General change from the standard blue of the UFE logo to a room that looks like an office. In the middle of the screen stands a tall, dark-skinned man; that’s the most of his features that Yuuri can distinguish from where he stands, and he wishes once more that he has his glasses on.

This time, when he feels an arm wrap around him, he leans against Viktor – he lets Viktor take comfort in his touch as much as he is seeking comfort from his. Not really wanting Phichit to feel left out, he reaches out to take his hand, twining their fingers and squeezing back when Phichit tightens his grip in gratitude.

“ _The enemy’s battle plan is incredibly simple,_ ” says the man on the screen – General Hakkinen, Yuuri figures. It’s the man General Wakamiya introduced; it wouldn’t be amiss to conclude that he’s the same man. Yuuri’s head hurts when the screen suddenly turns dark, and then turns red; lights must have gotten turned off on the other side of the call. Checking the time on Phichit’s phone’s screen, he blanches when he realizes that it’s nearing 7 PM – the estimated time of impact for two out of four landing castles.

“Oh, god, I think I’m going to be sick,” he murmurs, and leans further against Viktor in thanks when he starts rubbing Yuuri’s back. He wants to barf; there’s a roiling in his stomach and his head is spinning. His injuries again, maybe?

“ _They plan on clearing the vicinity with the shockwave from the impact of the Landing Castles, which both eliminates our forces and provides a beach head. But we’ve spent the past fifteen years preparing for such an attack._ ” Yuuri nearly snorts. General Hakkinen reminds him of one of his childhood heroes: a man in a show, who spoke in exaggerated tones whenever he talked about justice and keeping the peace. He does not understand where the memory came from, but it’s helping subside the nausea, so he continues to dwell on it. “ _We will concentrate all our forces and destroy the enemy before their ground troops can deploy.”_

Yuuri looks up at Viktor curiously when he feels him tense against his back. “Vit’enka?” he whispers. “What’s wrong?”

Viktor shakes his head, smiling mirthlessly as he keeps Yuuri on his feet. “They plan on ‘destroying the enemy’ before they can deploy ground troops.” He grits his teeth. “Don’t they _understand_ how powerful Martian Landing Castles are? Did they not learn? They won’t even need ground troops. Those things can destroy us _immediately._ ”

Yuuri is… nearly afraid, with how _vicious_ Viktor’s emotions are. He knows his lover to be someone calm, or positive, or even goofy; never has he ever shown emotions as dark and rolling – as vicious – as this anger. He is barely irritated by anything. Yuuri wonders what the story is, behind this vehemence; what’s hiding behind Viktor’s words? What’s pushing him to curl his fists hard enough that he feels like his ribs will break under his own lover’s hands?

“So you think we have no chance?” he murmurs to Viktor, tries to soothe him by slowly rubbing the back of Viktor’s hand with his thumb. “You think we won’t win?”

Viktor takes a deep breath, before relaxing somewhat. At least he isn’t crushing Yuuri’s ribs anymore. “We can win, but not with this strategy.” He shakes his head again, this time a little more calmly, and more subtly. “This is only bring death and even more death.”

When Yuuri turns his attention to the screen again, it’s to General Hakkinen holding a mic to his mouth, getting ready to announce something else. All of them are watching three screens now: the General, a split-view of Beijing and New Orleans, and a countdown.

Yuuri’s breath catches.

There’s less than 8 seconds left, and the only thing he can see of the screens from Beijing and New Orleans are the dark sky – overlain by something _big_ , flaming and slowly, surely, making its way to the surface of the Earth.

Right before it makes impact, they hear the General speak one more time.

“ _Go.”_

*

Even in the dark, it looks menacing.

Using his old medical records, his fellow medics were able to find Yuuri a pair of glasses as close to his eye grade as possible—it’s not as clear as he would like it to be, but it’s better than being blind as a bat in a place teeming with people who are rushing around trying to save the _world_.

Yuuri is amazed – he was not aware that the UFE has been developing military-grade cameras along with weapons these past fifteen years. The images that they receive in real-time from Beijing and New Orleans are truly high definition – higher definition than Yuuri’s eyesight, that’s for sure.

The structure is tall. Yuuri cannot estimate how tall, what with the smoke and debris and the disparage in distance between the camera and the structure itself. That’s… what a Martian Landing Castle is. Yuuri still can’t believe he’s seeing one himself. He can still remember, although not as clearly, the red giant he had seen in the sea. His childhood mind had dubbed it a robot; his adolescent, a Kataphrakt. Looking at the Landing Castle now, Yuuri is reevaluating what he remembers about it and tries to think of it as anything other than a Landing Castle – or a smaller version, at the very least.

As strange as it seems, Yuuri realizes that the Castles were beautiful, too, in a way – symmetrical and balanced; able to sustain itself even in places where survival is nearly impossible. Yuuri studies the many images that they are being fed in real-time.

Looking at the very thing that once changed the world makes Yuuri wonder about the life he could have had if it never existed. What kind of world would it have been, if Heaven’s Fall never happened, if the Martians never tried to do whatever the hell they were doing on the moon.

It might have been a world where he took Business Administration in college. It’s an amusing thought. If Heaven’s Fall hadn’t happened, he would still have his family and his family would still be managing their inn, because they never would have had to leave Hasetsu, they never would have lost each other—

Maybe he’d have a career pursuing dance and the arts. It had been his dream, as a child, after hearing about Minako’s success as a ballerina – going to dance competitions around the world, winning trophies and titles and slowly becoming the best…

Yuuri shakes himself from his thoughts, shifting where he’s perched – embarrassingly – on Viktor’s thighs.

After they were dismissed from the meeting – assigned half an hour to rest or study, whichever they prefer – Viktor had immediately grabbed him around the waist and dragged him to a chair, where he had been made to sit on the man’s lap.

The two men he had greeted in the Tent earlier – including the blond man that Yuuri still feels _jealous_ over, petty person that he is – approach them after. He is soon introduced to Vice Admiral Christophe Giacometti and his partner, Vice Admiral Mirai Narukawa.

(Vice Admiral Narukawa looks even more familiar to Yuuri when he stands close, and he smiles at him before offering his hand for a shake. “I carried General Voltsov from the ship to your operating table,” he says, finally giving Yuuri the reminder he needed to place his face in a sea of memories. “You made me your scrub nurse.”

Yuuri smiles at that. “We were understaffed during that time,” he explains, “and all you needed to do was hand me instruments, anyway.”

Vice Admiral Narukawa looks wry as he shakes his head. “If it hadn’t been for my sister being a nurse, I would never have been able to help you. I had _no idea_ what you were asking me for, to be honest.”

They laugh about it now, but Yuuri cringes and tries to apologize for his carelessness. All three of them shut his apologies down, though, all explaining the benefits of having saved General Voltsov—not only for their careers, but for the present circumstances as well.)

Yuuri had looked at Viktor in confusion, upon hearing their ranks. He _has_ heard about Admirals; he just never expected Viktor to know anyone of the rank.

“If I were in the Navy, or they were in the Army, we would be the same rank,” Viktor had answered, knowing almost immediately his question without him even needing to ask it. “We met each other on the ship on our way here.”

Christophe laughs, at that. “He doesn’t remember me from Reserve Corps Training, apparently,” he says. When he smiles at Yuuri, his gaze is bright – not with mirth, but with _affection_. His smile is warm and welcoming, and he extends his hand to Yuuri. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Master Sergeant Yuuri Katsuki.” Yuuri takes his hand, shaking it slightly. When they let go, Vice Admiral Giacometti’s gaze turns mirthful. “You know, Viktor has been more bearable now, _especially_ after you’ve first started dating him.”

Yuuri had flushed red-hot, then, ducking his head in embarrassment from the comment. Viktor had groaned and reproached his friend – but there was no heat in his tone, simply teasing between close friends. Vice Admiral Narukawa had laughed along with them, not seeming to mind their easy affection. Yuuri admires him for that.

Now they watch in horrified fascination as their drones and rovers make study and take images of the foreign object.

From the immediate damage reports, they’ve found out that the shockwave has destroyed at least three other cities around their point of impact in radius; more in the plains of New Orleans than in the northern mountainous regions of Beijing, but suffice it to say that those mountains are barely even hills anymore.

Both the Martian Castles must be _huge_ , made of material strong enough to withhold its weight _and_ people inside; but supple enough to survive the heat of entering an atmosphere, the pressure of surviving in zero gravity space. _Wonder what type of metal it’s made of,_ he thinks, _titanium, maybe._

“Viktor, you’re tickling me,” he says, when Viktor persistently buries his face in his neck, as if hoping that if he digs deep enough, he’ll fuse with Yuuri’s skin. _Now isn’t that a strange image._ Yuuri shudders.

“Are you cold, _lyubov_?” Viktor whispers. “I left my jacket back at the infirmary, I can run to get it—”

“Viktor,” he interrupts, “I’m fine. You need to calm down.”

Viktor remains silent after that, seeming content with simply holding Yuuri in his arms. For a while the Landing castles are just there, looming monsters of their nightmares, while in the background Yuuri hears talking in random intervals from the call in Russia. He frowns. From the call earlier, he thinks that their voices should be clearer – is it the bustle? Is that what’s causing the sudden choppiness?

 _Not choppy enough for other people to notice, apparently,_ Yuuri thinks.

Yuuri takes the few minutes they have left as a chance to talk to Viktor about the events of that afternoon, taking his hands and pressing his face against Viktor’s palms.

“ _Lyubov_?” Viktor asks softly. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says, “about Feodore. I know you two were close, and that you choce him to drive the Princess’s vehicle yesterday because you trusted him enough.”

Viktor his silent for a while, his hands cupped loosely against Yuuri’s face. Finally, he says, “It should have been me.” He takes a deep breath, as if calming himself, before he continues to speak. “If my father hadn’t put in a request for me to act as welcoming committee instead, it would have been me.” His hands fall from Yuuri’s face to curl around his throat. “I don’t—I trust Feodore, I do, but… these past few hours, I keep thinking—if it had been me, if I had been driving, maybe I would have found a way, I would have saved the princess…”

“Vitenka,” Yuuri murmurs, turning to brush a kiss against Viktor’s forehead. “It’s not your fault.”

Viktor simply smiles. “It’s not your fault the princess died either, _lyubov_ ,” he murmurs.

Yuuri doesn’t say anything. He is not sure how he can possibly say _I’m glad it wasn’t you_ without implying like he was glad it had been Feodore instead, because he isn’t. While they’re lucky nothing had happened to Viktor, losing Feodore is still a heavy weight on their shoulders.

They spend the rest of their time in the silence and comfort of each other’s presence, dealing with loss and grief in their own ways. They remain in their half-hug until they’re called to form ranks in the courtyard at the end of their break, separating with small kisses and lingering touches to each other’s faces.

When Yuuri gets there, he barely recognizes it from last night’s gun training. There is barely any space left for them to stand at attention – Kataphrakts, accessories, weapons, and ammunition racks line all available space not taken up by giant tanks and artillery vehicles. In the distance, Yuuri spots two or three helicopters with their rotors running slowly, warming up for what’s sure to be an expedition of a lifetime.

It’s General Wakamiya once again who vies for their attention – and gets it within 10 seconds. He clears his throat, probably not used to having to use his voice without amplifiers in an open space. He does not look like he is a person who likes shouting, anyhow.

“Listen up!” he calls, and Yuuri is wrong. He looks like he’s barely trying, but his voice is _loud_ that Yuuri nearly expects his voice to echo off of the large hunks of metal around them. It doesn’t. “You are all now tasked with facilitating and protecting civilians as we try our best to race that incoming Landing Castle. There are only four cities left in Japan that need to be evacuated – Tokyo, Shin’awara, Akita, and Osaka. The people of Osaka are already on their way to Tokyo as we speak – they will be leaving with the rest of the city for Russia in T-minus-1200 hours, once we’ve reached and boarded at the port in Shinawara.

“You will be transported to Shin’awara or Akita depending on your assignment. _Listen_ to your commanders. Platoon leaders, you know your responsibilities. Prioritize civilians. Ensure their safety.” He pauses, looking over the lines of men and women sworn to protect their land, before clearing his throat once more. “May justice serve you all well. Dismissed.”

Yuuri falls from his posture immediately, turning behind him to Viktor. “Do you think they’ll send me to Shin’awara if I asked?” he asks, simple but desperate. He hopes Inaho can easily get into a military vehicle, and he hopes that Inaho listens and goes _now_. It would be better to be waiting at the docks instead of barely getting there as the ship leaves tomorrow morning.

Just as he’s about to ask another question, a familiar face catches his attention.

“Yuki!” he calls, rushing towards his sister. “Oh, hello. Have you heard from Inaho?”

“Yuuri!” she says. “Are you okay? Should you really be walking around now? How are your injuries? Are you sure you ca—”

“ _Yuki_ stop, please, you’re just like Viktor,” Yuuri groans, feeling a little embarrassed by the outburst. “I’m feeling alright. I’d rather be up and moving than laying on an infirmary bed doing nothing.” He sighs. “Well? Any news from Inaho?”

Yuki stares at him for a long moment – cataloguing him and his bandages, Yuuri realizes after he catches her staring at the bandages that start at his neck and disappear into his shirt.

“I’m fine, Yuki,” he says again, softer this time, more reassuring and warm. “If it makes you feel any better, I can ask to be assigned on house-duty for the next few hours.”

It’s Yuki’s turn to sigh, this time. Slowly, gingerly, she pulls him into a hug – he reciprocates, remembering this morning and how he felt when he thought it would be the last time he’d be able to hold her in a long time – even ever. “I don’t want to take you away from what you really want to do,” she says. She hasn’t let go of Yuuri yet, and he’s honestly grateful – he is fond of physical contact, even if the way he was raised did not foster physical affection among children, not even siblings. Hugs, to him, were the best things ever created.

“And Nao is fine. I’ve been assigned to Shin’awara. We’ll just drive back in my car.”

Yuuri nods, and pulls away from her slowly, reluctantly. “Alright. Be careful, Yuki.”

“ _You_ be careful, too,” Yuuri says, watching her as she turns and goes towards one of the many Kataphrakts lined about in their courtyard, waiting to be mounted and used. A lot of the soldiers – especially the Pilots – seem eager to get on their machines to annihilate the Martians.

The chatter suddenly stops, though, when someone starts yelling – at first, it’s incomprehensible, until they realize that it’s an announcement that some idiot is making without an amplifier for his voice. Did they just suddenly run out of bullhorns, or was he just trying to imitate General Wakamiya?

“The attack has started!” he was yelling. “The Martian Landing Castle attacked first! The attack has started!”

*

“ _Intercept them!_ ” General Hakkinen’s voice says, choppy as it is in the command tent. Viktor had been pulled away from him a few minutes ago to be assigned his Kataphrakt platoon; Yuki had left for Shin’awara with hers, earlier. Yuuri and Phichit, being the two medical personnel left in Tokyo, have been asked to split up – Phichit is being sent to Akita, and Yuuri volunteered to go to Shin’awara.

‘It’s not that I don’t trust Yuki,’ he said to Viktor, when Viktor heard he had volunteered to leave Tokyo. ‘I just want to be able to see for myself that my family is safe.’

‘Who’s going to make sure that _you_ stay safe, then?’ Viktor asked, his hands around Yuuri’s face and his eyes roaming his face as if he’s trying to memorize his features.

He chuckled, amused and a falling a little more in love with the man in front of him. ‘Yuki’s platoon is almost as good as yours, Viktor,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sure they know what they’re doing. _You_ , on the other hand.’ He takes Viktor’s hands from his face, pulling them down to press his mouth against his knuckles. ‘You better make sure I still have someone to come home to, okay?’

Viktor pulls him into an embrace, then. ‘Okay. Okay.’

Now Yuuri stands in the command tent, wearing his combat medic uniform and waiting for his new platoon to pull out of Tokyo and leave for Shin’awara.

“ _Launch RAMs – what’s wrong?_ ”

Yuuri turns back to the screen, his curiosity piqued. What he sees confuses him for a moment, until one of the screens – the US screen, he notices – goes black before showing the standard blue of the UFE. It’s only then that he realizes – they’ve cut off telecommunications – explains the missiles completely missing warships and going into the water, for one thing. They’re scrambling Earth forces – isolating military lines and cutting off any and all sort of communication with the higher ups and main decision-makers. It makes sure that no one on Earth has a bird’s eye view of the situation.

Yuuri isn’t a strategist, but he knows enough to admit that it’s a good tactic. _Divide and conquer_ , he thinks, except more effective and better acting.

General Wakamiya is already on his feet, one radio held against his face and his other hand flying on the keyboard of a computer in front of him. “Communications with the United States – unclear – _gone_.” He curses. His voice carries through the whole Tent when he starts firing instructions that Yuuri gets dizzy trying to keep up with.

Yuuri feels someone grab his shoulder and drags him out of the Tent and into the coolness of the night; his mind is still spinning with _cables_ and _links severed, communications are down._ When he looks up, he sees Captain Crispino looking at him, concern glazing her eyes. He shakes his head and pulls himself into a salute, barely able to hold it long enough for her to ease him out of it.

“We’ve just lost contact with the Miami Landing Station,” she tells him, still studying his features. He probably looks as tired and done as he feels – he wonders if he _doesn’t_ have a concussion. If he did, it would explain the bouts of nausea and dizziness; but not the hot flashes and the irritated skin.

“What’s a Landing Station?” he asks, still dazed. He shakes his head to try to clear it, but it only makes the pounding headache worse. His hand comes up to cradle his forehead. It’s wet with sweat. Maybe he should take a breather—but not yet, not now. There’s no time now.

“It’s the American equivalent for UFE Communications Bases,” she explains, her voice soft and soothing. “Sergeant Katsuki – _Yuuri_ , are you okay? You should sit the Shin’awara expedition out, you don’t look well—”

“I _can’t_ ,” he says, _whines_ , almost. “I need to make sure that my family gets out of the city safely. The Martians are going to hit Shin’awara first, aren’t they? Because that’s where _she_ died.” The rolling in his stomach has gotten worse. He fancies her suggestion of sitting this out – it will probably lessen his chances of dying on the job, but he realizes that he’s survived one close-call too many. He has to do this, for his own peace of mind.

“Captain Crispino!”

Both of them turn to the voice. A recruit, saluting the both of them before going into his report almost immediately.

“You are being asked into the Navy Command Center, sir!” he says. “We have lost contact with American satellites. Landing Castles in orbit are attacking them, sir.”

Sara curses, but she doesn’t follow after the boy immediately. She watches Yuuri closely, closing her hand around his arm to steady him when he starts to sway. Yuuri pulls away.

“I’ll be fine, Captain – Sara. You have a country to protect,” he reminds her, smiling slightly. “I’ll rest on the way to Shin’awara. You have to make sure that the docks are safe for transport, remember?”

Yuuri’s mind goes back to his thoughts of could have beens; how differently his relationships with everyone he knows now would be, if they lived in a world without the threat of death hanging over their heads like it is now. Maybe in a life where he dances; Sara looks like someone who loves to dance as well – maybe they’d have met in a competition, representing their own countries. They could have been friends, all of them; he could see them spending time in dance studios or – or _skating rinks_ , even. She smiles back at him, nodding before she takes off towards the Navy Command Center – it’s a few buildings away from the Command Tent, and Yuuri watches her go until she disappears around the corner.

Slowly, keeping in mind his injuries and his throbbing head, he makes his way towards the armory – an armored car will escort him and two more Kataphrakt platoons to serve as reinforcements in Shin’awara. Tokyo will soon be vacated – if they learned anything from the reports in China and the US, it’s that shockwaves from the impact of a Landing Castle is great enough to annihilate _everything_.

He gets to the armory and overhears the tail-end of an update report: the third Landing Castle has been sighted in the skies of Mozambique, but they’re afraid they may not be able to completely evacuate the surrounding areas – this Landing Castle is moving through the atmosphere faster than the last two; it seems… _eager_ to land.

When the enters, the conversations stop; the people inside move to salute him, only relaxing and continuing preparations after he salutes them back in greeting. “Master Sergeant Katsuki, I suppose?” a man says, coming forward and stretching his arm for a handshake. He has dark hair and even darker eyes; his face is devoid of emotion and although he is only as tall as Yuuri, the way he carries himself confirms that this man is of a higher rankhan he is. “I am Captain Lee of the 201st Battalion. I will be escorting you to Shin’awara, Japan, and will be assisting Arion platoons Abtenauer and Augeron with Boerperd platoon. Please head to Warsaw 7-13. We will be departing in 12 minutes.”

Yuuri nods. He’s a little dazed, and honestly he’s even a little… _dazzled_ , as he continues to watch Captain Lee. He is – dare he say it – _pretty_. Not the kind of _pretty_ that Viktor or Phichit wears – he’s _lowkey_ pretty. Like, dark horse kind of pretty. His face is serious and he does not seem to be fond of smiling or laughing; he’s obviously a man who takes his responsibilities seriously, whatever these responsibilities may be, and Yuuri wonders what he looks like when his face isn’t as fierce as this.

 _You’ve been wondering about a lot of things lately,_ he thinks to himself. It’s probably a product of believing he was going to be executed, earlier, that so many sentimental thoughts have been buzzing through his mind. They don’t make him feel heavy the way his thoughts and memories sometimes do, though – instead they feel like butterflies, fluttering in his head before flying off, only to come back when a new idea comes around to dredge more emotions up.

He wonders how bad his concussion is, if he had one; his thoughts were flighty and disjointed enough that he feels a sliver of fear for possible brain damage. He pushes it down and ignores it for the moment—if they survive, he’ll have time to rest and heal, but right now, they’re all rushing. He does not have the luxury to pause.

He walks away from Captain Lee and further into the armory; there are half a dozen cars left here, the rest having pulled out already. By the time midnight strikes this base will be an empty shell – Tokyo will have no other residents except for the battle platoons assigned to eliminate the incoming Martian forces. Warsaw 7-13 turns out to be a black armored personnel carrier – smaller than the ones they use to evacuate civilians, but big enough to transport at least a dozen men and emergency provisions.

When he goes around to slip into the passenger’s seat, it’s to find someone leaning into the open hood, a sweater around her waist and tools on the floor by her feet. Yuuri feels his heart skip in his chest, but before he can second-guess himself, the woman pulls away from the hood and straightens her back. Yuuri feels like he can barely breathe, with the way his chest constricts and a lump forms in his throat.

She’s different, now. She’s taller, too – they must be around the same height – her build slim and muscled as compared to Yuuri’s soft chubbiness, hands calloused and dirty compared to Yuuri’s smooth fingers. Her hair is different – cut shorter and _blond_ , held back from her face by a headband, probably to keep it from getting in her way of work. Her nose is crooked – it looked as if it had been broken, once, and it just wasn’t set straight. When she realizes someone’s watching, she turns his head, and she and Yuuri stare at each other – two shades of brown, both swimming with a mix of shock – apprehension – fear – disbelief.

Yuuri breaks the tense silence first.

“Mari- _neesan_ ,” he breathes, and he feels tears forming in his eyes as he watches, in his head, the memory of his family _disappearing_ in that train station.

“Y-Yuuri?” she says, unsure. She looks like she’s afraid of him, for a moment, before her face turns fierce and she takes a step back. Yuuri is confused – her body language says she’s _hostile_ , and her eyes spew nothing but hatred towards him. “ _Who are you?”_ she hisses, in their mother tongue.

It takes a while for Yuuri to comprehend. He hasn’t heard or used their language in _years_. It isn’t his first language anymore, and his brain has to translate it into English for him to understand. When he answers, he stutters – he isn’t as used to the cadence and nuances of the language anymore, and the syntax is different from the grammar he’s used to. He perseveres, though. “ _It’s Yuuri, nee-san,”_ he says, slowly and with difficulty. _“It’s me.”_

 _“Yuuri is dead!”_ she says, her voice so loud she’s almost yelling. _“My brother died, fifteen years ago, who are you?!”_

Yuuri is confused. “I-I, I didn’t die,” he says, in the language he’s more comfortable with. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to properly convey what he wants to, if he continues having to translate in his head. “I thought I watched _you_ die. You, and _kaa-chan_ and _tou-san._ ”

Whatever answer she formulates is interrupted by Captain Lee arriving in their space, his eyes studying them in vague interest. “Is there a problem here, Master Sergeant Katsuki, Second Lieutenant Razeka?”

_Second Lieutenant? Razeka?_

“Nothing of importance, Captain,” Mari answers, saluting before she closes the hood of the vehicle. She picks up her toolbox before she resumes speaking. “The vehicle is in peak condition, sir.”

“Very well,” Captain Lee answers, pulling his hand up to a salute before nodding her dismissal. “Master Sergeant Katsuki, please board the vehicle. We will be leaving soon.”

Yuuri nods, opening the door and getting on. He watches in the mirror as Mari, his _sister_ , helps load the back of the vehicle with ammunition and boxes of clothes and water for evacuees. She doesn’t look up at him once. If she noticed that he’s watching her, she does not pay him any mind. Yuuri feels a little hurt, but it’s masked by confusion and questions – if Mari had been able to survive, does that mean that his parents did, too?

With the confusion and the questions come another emotion that Yuuri has been anticipating: guilt. _Why didn’t I try looking for them? How was I so sure that they were dead?_

His mind feels like a broken record, playing a repeated harmony of _she’s alive she’s alive she’s alive_ indefinitely – she’s alive, his sister is alive and she didn’t die fifteen years ago.

He is so deep in his thoughts that he doesn’t realize preparations are done until Captain Lee boards the vehicle with him, igniting the engine and asking him to put his seatbelt on. He has not yet completely wrapped his mind around the fact that his _sister is alive_ , is using another name, and has been part of the military long enough to be promoted to Second Lieutenant.

He wonders, inanely, what arm of the military she’s a part of. _She can’t be part of the Army,_ he thinks, _I would have seen her around at least once during training. Does the Navy have Second Lieutenants? I should have asked Viktor._

He looks out of the window as they pull out of the armory and into the Tokyo roads – the speed constant as they move on their way out of the city. _I would have liked it if I saw Viktor before we left._

It takes less than an hour of Captain Lee’s smooth driving, added to his throbbing head, exhausted emotions, and frayed nerves, for Yuuri to drop off of the land of the conscious. Before he falls asleep, he sees the scene again – the scene of his childhood nightmares, of his family suddenly disappearing in a spray of concrete and dust, only this time it’s not just an unclear image of someone _huge_ falling into them that takes them away from him – it’s a hand, scooping them up from the Earth, taking his family and leaving Yuuri all alone.

*

He jumps awake when the car does, landing on the road in a squeal of tires and the smell of burning rubber. His mind scrambles to catch up to reality – remembering events from… this morning… to…

…to the fact that his sister is alive.

He’s snapped from his thoughts by the sound of Captain Lee killing the engine, waiting for a moment before sighing in relief. It’s still dark out – a check of the dashboard clock tells him it’s only nearing midnight, meaning he had been able to sleep for about three hours. In the distance, beyond what we can see on the horizon, flames rise – the fourth Landing Castle has made impact. In a few hours, they will surely be on their way to Shin’awara.

“We’re less than an hour away from the city,” Captain Lee says, his igniting the engine once more and pulling the gear shift. His foot presses on the gas and acceleration and his other hand spins the steering wheel so quickly that Yuuri nearly snaps his neck as the car follows. “Forgive me, Master Sergeant. We will be speeding our way there.”

Yuuri reaches up to hold on to the handle over the window. “Be my guest,” he says weakly, closing his eyes against the rushing view of trees and road outside of the car. He peeks for a moment to the rearview mirror; everything behind them seems to be in order, and only three of their escorts have fallen to the ground in Captain Lee’s rush driving—the rest of them were able to find handholds and footholds to keep them where they’re seated instead of sprawling on the floor.

*

They arrive at the base just as the Kataphrakt pilots are preparing to mount their units. The civilians ae set to leave in six hours and they are all rushing to get equipment and reinforcements loaded and ready for takeoff. He sees Yuki in one of the garages and heads over, hoping that a familiar face would help lessen the building anxiety. He is grateful that it did not hit him on the road, but now he wishes that it never came back at all.

“Don’t tell me you’re still at the house, _Nao_!”

Then again, maybe not.

Yuuri freezes where he stands, his heart stopping for a moment before jackhammering in his chest. Inaho is not at the docks, and neither is he on-base – he’s _still at their freaking house._ He tries to take a deep breath to calm himself, but it feels like poison in this throat – acid churns in his stomach and the throbbing in his head gets worse. He leans against the wall, ignoring the man who flusters around him. Thoughts and worries about Inaho successfully push everything else down in his head, although ‘success’ is relative in his current condition.

The bile coming up his throat is bitter, stinging the back of his mouth and irritating his nose. There’s barely anything that comes out, but it sure as hell hurts.

“I’ll be fine,” he tells him, and the man – reluctantly – leaves his side to continue with his tasks. _Inaho and the dogs are still at the house,_ he thinks. _And the Martian is on its way here._ He spits out as his dry heaving slows down to a stop, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He grimaces.

“Adapt your plans to fit the situation,” he hears Yuki continue, her voice reproachful but filled with worry, “if you have to, trust your gut and make the call! Aren’t I always telling you that? Geez! Sometimes you and Yuu- _chan_ are _exactly_ the same!”

Yuuri flinches at the mention of his name, wondering if he could get away with explaining that he didn’t think his voluntary service was going to be accepted. He blinks when a canteen is shoved against his face, making a face—although gratefully—as he takes it and drinks a few mouthfuls of water. “Thank you,” he says, giving the canteen back to its rightful owner, who simply nods before marching off.

“Be careful!” Yuki says, before she hangs up. When she turns around, their gazes meet, and it doesn’t take her long to realize he’s heard their conversation. Her hand flies to her forehead and she groans. “My brothers are _idiots,_ ” she whispers.

 _My brother is dead,_ his memory echoes, but he shakes his head and ignores it. He’ll have time to think about that later. He instead makes his way towards Yuki – stepping off to the side to give way for tanks to move about. The noise is almost unbearable, but he’s slightly grateful. _If it’s noisy enough out here, it can probably drown out the noise of my own thoughts._

Yuki sighs when he’s close enough to her, before she reaches up and pinches both of his cheeks. He lets her – he supposes he deserves that, for not listening to her last night. “There’s an evacuation advisory for the citizens of Shin’awara,” she tells him, “and as medical personnel you’re probably going to be needed here more than at the docks.” She sighs again, before she smiles. “I’m glad you’re here, Yuu- _chan_.”

 _I’m glad I chose to come here,_ he thinks, and he nods at her.

The next unit transportation vehicle stops right beside where they’re standing, and Yuuri looks up to its load. “The KG-9 Morgenstern,” he murmurs, recognizing it as the Kataphrakt that Viktor pilots – its silver body is telling in its difference from the Arion’s black frame, or the unit that comes after it, the Trojan and its blue finish – from what he has gleaned from Viktor’s many songs of praise, its weapons and ammunition are heavy duty and lightweight, the unit was fast and easy, its power source and programming smooth; making them the UFE’s best and most functional unit so far.

“The latest Kataphrakt unit,” Yuki murmurs. “Sometimes I can’t really tell what the difference is, between the KG-9 line and the KG-7.” She shudders. “All I know is that the KG-8 failed just as spectacularly as 4 and 5.”

That piques Yuuri’s curiosity. “How did it fail?” he asks. He remembers the KG-8 Trojan launch – the United States led its research and building, using some of the most precious resources in its creation, but after its first test three years ago, it was as if the project never existed in the first place. Less than half a year later, the KG-9 Morgenstern was launched and almost immediately tapped as a success. He’s heard rumors of an incoming KG-10 and KG-11, but he doesn’t know how true those rumors are. They don’t seem baseless, seeing as most Kataphrakt lines were launched within a two-year time frame from each other.

“Well, it killed half the people in charge of making it,” she answers, her voice hushed. “The activator in the powerplant they were using exploded, killing nearly a third of the population of the town close to it on the first five minutes alone.”

Yuuri’s head snaps to Yuki, only to see her watching the Morgenstern with steel in her eyes. “The government said that was a meltdown, something going wrong with the mines underground. It _wasn’t_?”

When Yuki looks to him again, her face is devoid of any emotion – a strange look on her; he’s used to seeing her as emotional and easy to read; seeing her like this makes him uncomfortable. “They had to say _something_. Most of the population was already against Kataphrakt manufacturing during that time. They had fallen into a sense of security because there had been no overt Martian attacks – any attack that happened was immediately subdued.” She shakes her head. “Had they found out that it happened _because_ of a Kataphrakt creation experiment, what do you think would happen to the small bubble of peace that the UFE has been able to establish?”

Yuuri stays silent. From the corner of his eye, he sees Captain Lee standing by the door to the garage – waiting for him, probably. “I have to go,” he murmurs to Yuki, although a part of him is trying to tell him to _stay_ , to not leave her side – to act like the child he sometimes feels he still is and ask for his older sister to keep him safe. “I… have to tell you something, but I’ll tell you after the evacuation, okay?”

Yuki nods. “Take care of yourself, Yuu- _chan_.”

Yuuri smiles, hugging her shortly before pulling away. “You take care, too. Make sure Inaho and the dogs get out of the city safely, okay?”

She laughs, waving him off. When he walks to Captain Lee, it’s to find him listening intently to someone whispering in his ear – he looks tense, and he turns to Yuuri as soon as the man leaves. “Master Sergeant Katsuki, a report has just come in. High-temperature readings have been sighted from Tokyo, on their way here. It seems Shinawara will be unsafe soon.”

His heart skips a beat, but unbelievably, his thoughts remain calm. Yuuri nods. “Where am I needed?”

“I understand that the medical staff from the local hospitals are extremely undermanned. They need assistance in clearing civilians and vaccinating the children boarding the ship.”

Yuuri takes a deep, fortifying breath. “Lead the way, Captain.”

*

 _Undermanned_ was an understatement. Yuuri has seen the line of people and was immediately overwhelmed; from where he is stationed in one of the tables in front of the entrance to the ship, it’s as if each medical personnel is checking at least two dozen citizens at _once_.

Their set-up, unconventional and rushed as it is, is efficient for this time of the night—spotlights have been mounted on streetlamps and the ship’s hull itself to aid the impromptu medical mission on the port.

Surprisingly, they all work fast and easy, his skills merging seamlessly with the rest of the staff around him. Never one for paperwork even back in school, he instead helps with vaccinating children – by far the most taxing task for them, it seems. Each child who is passed to him immediately starts bawling their eyes out, all screaming bloody murder and flailing limbs. He feels a bruise coming on his jaw from one very well-placed uppercut.

For undeveloped humans, they sure are strong – but he attributes that to the fact that he’s being gentle with them. Each child is progressively more difficult than the last, unwilling to let Yuuri roll their sleeves so he can give them the two shots that they need in their month-long journey from Japan to their safe haven in Russia.

He’s lucky that none of the parents are too difficult themselves – terse answers of ‘anti-viral flu shot’ and ‘immune system booster’ are more than enough to answer their protective questions. Soon, his pile of vaccines are gone – but the line of people waiting to board the ship is still _long_. He’s about to leave the table to ask for more supplies when his radio – handed to him by Captain Lee before he joined his KG-9 Morgenstern platoon, for the sake of updating him of what is happening to the city itself – crackles to life.

“ _Master Sergeant Katsuki, this is Boerperd Platoon Leader Lee, do you copy?”_ comes Captain Lee’s choppy voice. He takes it from the table and pulls it to his mouth.

“Master Sergeant Katsuki to Platoon Leader Lee, over,” he says, trying to keep his voice and face as calm as possible. Parents and medical staff alike are stealing glances at him – some are even outright _staring_. He wonders if they can understand anything past the static on the radio.

“ _Abtanauer 4-4 has made contact,”_ Captain Lee says, “ _I reckon Warrant Officer Kaizuka’s message of,_ the children are here _is for you?”_

Yuuri feels so relieved he wants to start laughing, and he almost does – except it’s inappropriate for the occasion. “Thank you, Platoon Leader. Message copied.” _And kept in my heart forever,_ he doesn’t say out loud.

“ _Copy. Platoon Leader Lee, out.”_ The radio crackles again, before the sound dies out. He has probably turned off radio communication – to him, at least. During their conversation a new batch of vaccines have been delivered to his table, as well as a clipboard with [CONFIDENTIAL] stamped diagonally across the table – he concludes that it’s not something he can open in public. He takes it from the top of the boxes and puts it on the table, immediately ripping open the tape off the boxes, and gets to work.

The folder turns out to be a roster of civilians whose presence have already been recorded on the port and in the ship—including their medical histories, their present conditions, and the medications that they need to stock up on if they have the chance. Yuuri goes through it and breathes out when he sees no familiar names—at least, no names that he is familiar enough to be relieved by. He flips through the forty-page file before closing and putting it aside, deciding to leave it again to be checked later. Hopefully an updated version is given to him by the time he’s finished with his work.

*

The morning is long. At some point, just as the sky darkens with the incoming dawn, Yuuri is asked to transfer from the quarantine ward to the infirmary itself – human malaise has never really chosen its time, has it? His head starts going round and round with all the people he’s being asked to check over – high blood pressure, anemia, low blood sugar, shock, dehydration, fever…

When he is finally asked to take his break, he takes in gratefully – he grabs the sandwich and bottle of water a nurse hands to him and sits down on the dock’s concrete barrier, shifting uncomfortably in his uniform. The line is not as long now, and seems a little more manageable – there are probably only a few dozen people left, if not less. He’d been given a second folder to add to the first one, but there’s still no Inaho on the list; besides, he hadn’t seen his dogs on the port either, so he doubts that they were able to board undetected.

He watches the sky, the horizon turning a dark purple from black as the sun rises. It must be past 5 AM now – the ship’s expected to leave in about two hours, as soon as all the civilians and the personnel have boarded.

Had he been in any other situation, this would have been ordinary—he had just finished half of his morning run, taking a break to enjoy the sunrise before he needs to finish the other half and get back home. He nearly believes it, if not for the constant buzzing of voices and movement, and his muscles twitching in exhaustion. A doctor comes close and insists on checking his injuries – starting with his head (“It’s still tender, sir, please be gentle.”) to his arm. He even asks Yuuri to take off his shirt so that he can change the bandages wrapped around his neck and torso.

Yuuri follows his instructions with reluctant embarrassment. On one hand, he _really_ doesn’t want to take his shirt off, but on the other, he’s military personnel – there’s no choosing his comfort over preventing infected or worsened injuries. The doctor – _embarrassingly_ – hands Yuuri a lollipop once he’s satisfied with the way he’s been wrapped in new bandages.

“I’m in pediatric trauma,” the doctor says with a shrug, “it was reflex. Besides – sugar will be good for you – who knows how much longer we will have to wait here.”

Yuuri takes the piece of candy, looking forward eating it and finally having something he can enjoy. _The next best thing would be my dogs,_ he thinks, before shrugging and deciding to eat he candy right then. There’s no one here to tell him off for it – his instructors have stopped caring about his weight when he proved that his stamina could take the extra baggage _and_ still give them a run for their money, and Phichit and Viktor were both bad enablers to his random food cravings.

The candy is almost too sweet on Yuuri’s tongue, reminding him of that one time he ate a packet of sugar after being dared by Phichit and some of their other peers. It’s hard between his teeth and he nearly chokes on his spit when he realizes that this is probably the calmest he has felt in the past two days – even calmer than when he had been with Viktor.

 _If Phichit knew he would be making totally inappropriate jokes about oral fixations,_ he thinks, willing himself not to blush and look like a complete _idiot_ for flushing over nothing. He’s glad that practically no one here knows him – a few of his batchmates from compulsory military school, and he has seen several of the nurses when he had done his rounds for medical school, but no one who would know him well enough to tease him about this.

When Yuuri goes back on duty, less than a dozen people are left in line – there are stragglers still coming in by the vehicle, but they are accounted for much quicker than earlier this morning. Soon they’re cleaning up – boxes and boxes are filled with used syringes, cotton, and sanitary gloves; Yuuri has to get rid of his medical mask because of how _gross_ it feels against him at the end of it. They leave the boxes in an ambulance, for the lack of more proper disposal area.

“What a waste of a completely good ambulance,” one of the senior nurses mutters under her breath, “I hope it’s still functional when we come back.”

 _Well, aren’t you optimistic,_ Yuuri thinks, and he chastises himself for the sarcasm, glad that for _once_ his brain to mouth filter worked in his favor. He does not know how he could deal with the situation had he said it out loud and, worse, had she heard him say it. He shudders. _You survive a possible execution only to be lynched by the masses. That’s exactly like you, Yuuri Katsuki._

Things calm down after all the bustle of the morning that, by the time it’s early morning, with the sun actually shining, the dock seems strangely empty. All the noise is in the refugee ship behind them, and most of the medical staff have boarded already.

Not really knowing what to do next, he decides to stay outside for the moment, at least until he gets further information. He walks around the docks – in the years he has lived in the city, he has never really ventured this far south; there are always too many errands to run, people to take care of, to be able to fully explore the parts of the city that he does not frequent on a daily basis.

When he turns a corner between two buildings, it’s to find a shaded, open square – it’s surrounded by three buildings on three sides, the two buildings he just passed between enclosing it into something that looks like an almost private space. _Well, might as well get some dancing done,_ he thinks. He removes his jacket from where he has tied it around his waist, pulling his radio and gun from their safe perches. He takes off his belt and holster, too – loosens up his clothing as much as he can for easier movement.

He takes his phone and looks through his music library – well, more like the music library he has taken to sharing with Viktor, really – and decides on a light, easy song for starters. He doesn’t blast the music as loudly as it can – in the space he’s in, it echoes loud enough for him to hear and feel it.

He loses himself in the rhythm and musicality almost immediately, his body feeling light despite the abuse that it has just gone through. He raises his arm slowly, extending the opposite leg behind him, his foot carrying his weight forward until he’s standing on his toes. He holds the position for a moment, feeling the way his muscles quiver, before releasing, imitating a doll with its strings cut before moving on to his next pose.

He jumps and twirls in the air, when the music reaches its crescendo, landing strong on both feet with his back arched and his arms held behind him as it falls to its resolution. When the music starts slowing down, he starts imitating the steps of his favorite dance he has ever performed with Viktor, this time without him – a slow, flirtatious waltz, not completely touching each other but close enough to feel each other’s breaths on their faces.

When he closes his eyes he can almost see Viktor in front of him – panting hard from the exchange they’ve had earlier – an aggressive dance that reminds Yuuri now of how Viktor had almost aggressively chased and courted him, before they started dating for real.

His arms wrap around himself in a strange facsimile of the embrace they had shared back then, when they had held each other so close, so tight, as if they were afraid that the other was going to leave or disappear if they dared to let go. Yuuri opens his eyes and starts panting as the next song starts to play – upbeat and bubbly, it’s probably one of Viktor’s running music – and smiles at the memories of him and Viktor that run through his head – never has he been more wrong in his fears for the future than the fear he had had about his future with Viktor.

The man has done everything to prove his love to Yuuri, to prove that he plans on staying by Yuuri for as long as he can, and although he sometimes finds his own lover overbearing, he knows he is more than fortunate to be able to have something like the relationship that they share, have shared, for the past year.

His mood has lightened up considerably, and he decides to start randomly sashaying to the music playing. It’s not his cup of tea, nor is it something he sees himself enjoying dancing to, but it’s there and it feels like it’s something that his emotions would dance to, if they were continuously this light.

He dances through four more songs before he decides that his body is too tired to continue – even with his stamina, too much physical activity can exhaust him. He takes his time with cooling his body down, taking a swig of water from the – room temperature, now, _ack_ – bottle from earlier before donning his military equipment once more.

He does not immediately leave the small space, when he’s ready to go. When he looks around once more time, he feels like there’s a part of him he’s about to leave behind – the part of him that found peace and love in the middle of a war, a part of him that found shelter before he inevitably faced the world of chaos once more. He feels nostalgic and sentimental over a place he has only been in for half an hour.

He shakes his head at his silliness, walking out of the square and finding the place he had left earlier nearly deserted now buzzing with activity again – military personnel were running around, some of them holding huge boxes – _provisions_ – and others holding nothing but radios that they keep talking to.

Yuuri frowns. He takes his own radio and tries to connect with Captain Lee’s channel, only for white noise and static to greet him. Feeling the light mood of earlier dissipate, only to be replaced by dread, he starts fiddling with the radio to try and intercept other radio channels – he gets nearly nothing, barely the signal from the radio close to him, right here at the docks.

His hand tightens around the radio, almost impatiently.

 _I’m not going to jump to conclusions until someone contacts me and tells me that something happened,_ he tells himself.

He continues fiddling with his radio, trying to call Captain Lee. Every time, only static and white noise greets him – by the time he feels as if he has tried all possible channels, he’s frustrated and nearly in tears. He belatedly realizes that radio jamming was a thing – their signals were probably getting disrupted to keep them from communicating with each other.

He decides instead to flag down one of the people still trying to use the radio, but only cursing, now, as he realizes that it cannot connect to anyone’s for now.

“What’s happening?” he asks, as calmly as he can. “Why the rush?”

“There are orders from Headquarters to pull out,” the man answers him, his voice gruff and snappy – it takes Yuuri a moment to realize that he isn’t mad at _him_. “Friendly forces have made contact with an enemy Kataphrakt, but we’ve lost contact with both Platoons. We’re leaving the docks as soon as we’ve loaded provisions.”

Yuuri stands there, stuck, as he rushes off towards the ship, his mind repeating _leaving the docks_ over and over, still not connecting in his brain until –

“We still have civilian forces in the city!” he says, but no one is listening to him – everyone is busy trying to load provisions into the ship to notice that someone is talking. He looks around frantically, running to the garage and spotting the APC that he arrived in earlier. Even with the way it had bounced on the road, it’s intact – no damage whatsoever on the chassis, or the wheels, or the windshields.

He gets on the car and checks around for the key – finding it hidden behind the folded overhead shade and putting it into the ignition. Honestly, he doesn’t know what he’s planning on doing – he doesn’t know what he _can_ do, if he decides to go through with this crazy plan of his to – to what, rescue his family?

But he doesn’t care. He turns the key, gripping the leather of the steering wheel in his hands as the engine rumbles beneath him, and drives out of the docks and into the city. As long as he could get to them, he doesn’t care.

*

For some reason, it does not occur to him to drive in the direction of the base – instead, he drives opposite, still going north but heading west instead. Through here he passes by the road where the Princess had been killed the yesterday – _was that really just hours ago?_ – and he does his best not to look at the cones encircling the points of impact, crates on the concrete with debris still surrounding its burnt edges.

When he reaches the Western Residence block, he brakes so hard that the tires squeal against the concrete. The city looks _devastated_ , with the roads cracked so badly that water has begun flooding the streets, but the strangeness of it comes in the form of the buildings – the seem to have been… carved, by a giant, precise knife – most of them have been split in half, but in the distance Yuuri sees two or three buildings with their corners… missing.

They haven’t been blasted off, or pushed in; those corners are truly missing, he realizes, as he drives by. There’s no debris, no outcropping beams or concrete; it’s just… gone, like it’s been sucked into some alternate universe. He can see the interior of what probably used to be an office building. He gulps down the nerves trying to crawl up his throat and keeps moving forward, keeping his eyes out for any sign of life or movement.

He yelps and brakes hard, _again_ , and the Kataphrakt foot just barely misses his vehicle as it comes down from the sky.

“ _What the f – what the hell are you still doing here?!”_ a voice booms from the Kataphrakt, and Yuuri flinches. He reaches for the microphone connected to the vehicle’s own horn.

“This is Master Sergeant Katsuki,” he says, “is this… Captain Lee? Are you there?”

One of the Kataphrakts come closer to his side. He leaves the car when he sees it hunker down, bending to set one of its hands against the road. The large, metal fingers open and—is that—

“Lieutenant Marito?!” Yuuri yells, rushing out of the car and running forward to wrap his arm around the Lieutenant’s waist as he wobbles on his feet. “What?!”

He looks up and sees no one else but Captain Lee descending the Kataphrakt, his landing lithe and graceful as he wraps his own arm around Lieutenant Marito’s waist on his other side. Together they make their way to the APC, pulling him into the carrier – Yuuri immediately checks him over and finds nothing but bruises and slight burns on his arms. Nothing that will kill him in the next few hours, at least.

“Captain Lee?” Yuuri asks, uncertain as they watch the unconscious Lieutenant. “What happened?”

“Augeron Platoon made contact with enemy Kataphrakt,” he answers, his voice tight and… strange. “From what the Lieutenant was able to tell us beforehand, another one of his platoon was able to survive – from their last communication, they’ve joined a group of civilians that the Kataphrakt was chasing.”

Yuuri feels his throat seize up. Augeron was Yuki’s platoon – did _she_ survive? The civilians must include Inaho, then, since he hasn’t seen them just yet at the docks, but with this information, maybe they’ll be able to convince headquarters to hold off on take off until they’ve secured all refugees?

 _Long shot,_ he chastises himself. “We have to go back to the docks,” he murmurs. “We have an injured man here.”

Captain Lee shakes his head, to Yuuri’s surprise – he would have thought that he would agree, since it was the best option that they have, considering the circumstances.

“We must report to the base first, before we leave for the docks,” Captain says. “If you must, bring Lieutenant Marito to the docks with you. Boerperd Platoon will move to base first.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “No, we’ve found each other – we stay together. If we separate now and that Kataphrakt decides to turn around, we’re doomed.” He pauses, and then he laughs – mirthlessly. “ _I_ am, at any rate. I can’t protect myself and I’ll be leading it straight to the refugees.”

Captain Lee stares at him for a moment before he nods, leaving the carrier swiftly. By the time Yuuri has bunkered on to the driver’s seat, his Kataphrakt was already on its feet, directing the rest of the Platoon around the APC. Yuuri smiles, a little sadly – he remembers the few times that Viktor had offered to carry him in his Kataphrakt, and how he had refused because it would look too… much. Now here he is, being escorted through the – deserted, yes, but nonetheless – city by not one but _five_ Kataphrakts.

_Look at me now, Phichit, I’m as fancy as we said we never would be._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka Yuuri Has A Lot of Feelings
> 
> -
> 
> did u guys notice that i ran out of words for infirmary like halfway through this chapter lmao my HS English teacher would bawl and question i frikkin passed her class AND state university entrance exams lololol  
> i wasn't able to finish the events of episode in this chapter because,,, i'm too,,, lazy,,,,  
> i hope u enjoyed this as much as i did
> 
> -
> 
> also, i'm not actually sure if that dude from Episode 2 is General Hakkinen. i made it up. i saw his name in the books and decided to use him. he's General Hakkinen now.
> 
> (do any of u guys play warframe? i just started and,,, i,,, can't,,, stop,,, thesis what's good lmao  
> add me @M0kkachinno)


	4. Episode 3: The Children's Echelon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ,,l A T E
> 
>  **[10/22 EDIT]** Merged contents of chapter 4 (Episode 3.1: Echelon) with contents of Chapter 5 (Episode 3.2: Army). Improved writing, added details for world building; added a scene to clarify the events with the volunteers at the port.

_your dreams are like ink on parchment;_

_how far will your voice reach?_

* * *

 

# Chapter 3: Episode 3.1

-

There are a lot of things Yuki Kaizuka can say she likes about the world, considering how it has been destroyed during her childhood – but waking up has never been one of them.

Especially waking up like _this_ , with her body feeling – and looking, probably – like one big bruise, her head pounding, and her lids glued together, making the act of opening her eyes more painful than it already is on a normal day. It feels just like any other morning she wakes up after a drinking session with her colleagues, until her memory refreshes and the images start flashing in her mind: images of her squad, seemingly _disappearing_ with every swipe of that Kataphrakt’s metal arms; of Lieutenant Marito, fighting to the last moment to give her—and her precious civilian cargo—a chance to escape.

Pain lances through her at the thought of the man. She has never disliked him, in fact – she respects him, more than she does her other superiors. He is the one man who believed in her abilities ever since she had been young – in her abilities to raise Inaho and Yuuri, and, later, to become the best in her job as she trained. She thinks that, if someone had given him the chance, he would have adopted an orphan or two from Heaven’s Fall – if only, that is, people actually believed him about what happened fifteen years ago, in Tanegashima, the first impact sight from fifteen years ago.

She has never heard about what happened in full – no matter how much of a family she sees him, she just _isn’t_ , and Doctor Yagarai is too much of a professional to divulge his patient’s secrets. But Yuki has taken care of the man through drunken babblings about Heaven’s Fall for _years_ , and the picture she has painted – of the place, of his _experience_ – is not pretty. She wonders, sometimes, how he can still stomach to sit on a Kataphrakt cockpit, a space that feels almost exactly as the inside of a tank.

She wonders, sometimes, if he has ever had anyone appreciate just how strong he is, he had been; he wonders if he has ever let anyone in close enough to _see_ beyond the alcoholism and scathing remarks.

Unbidden, Doctor Yagarai’s face pops into her mind, and it startles her enough to open her eyes – to see _him_.

 _What was that?!_ she thinks, trying to sit up. Yagarai assists her, but she tells her she should stay in bed – she notices the make-shift binding her arm is in, a sling hanging from her neck and holding it steady against her chest.

“Where am I?” she asks. It looks like an infirmary – a sight that, unfortunately, she is becoming more and more familiar with, except this is the first time that she wakes to find herself _in_ the infirmary, herself.

“The school,” Yagarai answers, looking around the space with her, and it finally clicks why the place is more familiar to her – she has brought several students here in the past, when she had been put in-charge as their drill instructor. “The enemy hasn’t figured out that we’re here yet. We’ve managed to give them the slip for the time being.”

“What about the others?” she asks. She doesn’t know if she’s asking – for her platoon, the other platoon, her _brother_ … there are so many ‘others’ to take into consideration, and she simply hopes that Yagarai could understand what she’s asking, what she isn’t willing to.

From the smile he gives her, he seems to have. “They say they’re going to fight,” he says, and she immediately knows who he is talking about – and her heart stops in her chest. “With the equipment here, against that Martian Kataphrakt.”

She tries to swallow around the lump that has formed in her throat, but she can’t – her body has begun complaining against the pain and abuse she has put it through, and the worry that starts niggling in the back of her head for her baby brother just won’t leave her alone.

_Nao-kun, what the hell are you thinking?!_

-

The drive to the base felt like it lasted _hours_. And it did, in a way – Captain Lee, or another pilot, stopped their trek at nearly every corner that they walked up to, insisting to check for any enemy forces that may come their way. Yuuri is grateful, since they’re probably only doing it for _his_ – and his injured passenger’s – sake, anyway, but he needs them to get a _move on, already._ If they don’t get to the base in the next half hour, he swears he’s going to strangle Lieutenant Marito himself, just to make them move with more urgency.

He doesn’t strangle the Lieutenant.

What he does, though, is to reach for the mouthpiece again, after the third command that he hears to have been issued out loud, via the Kataphrakt loudspeakers. “Why are you communicating out loud?” he asks, tentative, trying his best to hide his frustration and nerves.

“Radio comms are down,” one of the pilots answers, sounding frustrated, “and one of our members has a malfunctioning laser communications patch. Hopefully someone at the base can reprogram her hardware before we move on to the next point.”

“Point?”

“We’re moving North to escort the APCs carrying civilians from Akita,” Captain Lee answers this time, “thus we will have to rendezvous with another platoon. We’re almost at the base. How is the Lieutenant?”

Yuuri glances at the rearview mirror above him, surprised – but glad – to see the Lieutenant sitting up, his hand cradling his head. “He’s awake.” He leaves the mouthpiece and calls out, “Lieutenant? Are you alright?”

“Borderline,” he mutters, “where are we going? Has the last civilian group been evacuated?”

Yuuri purses his lips, but his silence seems answer enough for the Lieutenant, who curses at his response – or the lack of it, anyway. “We’ve been ordered to pull out of the city, and to move the civilians out,” he says, cringing when the Lieutenant curses even louder.

“What?! Why?” he demands. He hunkers over to the front seat, grabbing the extra thermal jacket hanging on the backrest and putting it on. “Are they just going to label their last standing soldier as Killed in Action?”

Yuuri deflates, so much so that his foot almost slips on the gas.  Lieutenant Marito’s questions remain unanswered. What _now_ , of the civilians, then? Are they going to leave the city knowing that there are refugees that haven’t been able to come out, haven’t been rescued? _So much for trying to save people,_ Yuuri thinks darkly.

Nausea rolls in Yuuri’s stomach at the thought – that, added with guilt, and with anger; there’s probably a healthy mix of other emotions in there as well, like confusion and fear and just, overall, exhaustion. He won’t stand for this – he’ll find a way to get HQ to let them rescue the civilians, even if it meant begging. Just the thought of never seeing his family – his sister, his brother, his _babies_ – was enough to make tears spring to his eyes, but thankfully, none fall. _You have time for tears later,_ he reminds himself, _you have time for thinking later._

His fists clench around the steering wheel when he sees the base come into view. He _will_ rescue his family. He _will_.

Yuuri takes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to the Lieutenant, opened to the application he had been using to check the names of every citizen he had checked over, earlier—he’d probably get a warning for patient confidentiality, but at the moment he doesn’t quite care. “There are civilians still out there,” he says, “they’re names are highlighted red at the top.”

When Marito curses, this time, Yuuri doesn’t flinch. Instead, he curses inside his head – all the things he wants to say out loud but will probably never have the guts to. He feels the same way. The number of red flags on that document may seem insignificant, but in a war, every life means something.

Each and every one of those red rows means something.

*

The first time Yuuri had ever entered the United Forces of Earth Headquarters in Shinawara, he had been 18 and just freshly graduated from his medical course. He was to start his official training as combat medic under Doctor Celestino Cialdini, a training he will undergo for the next three years, and will practice for the rest of his life.

He had been young, then – he saw the base as a beacon of hope in a world that’s just barely picking itself up from the catastrophe that nearly ended it, almost a decade beforehand. The base seemed to be _vast_ to him, as if everything he saw – the equipment, the utilities, the _people_ – everything was so new, so exciting. It gave him a new view of life and his future that he had not yet felt before.

The tour they were given was brief but packed with information, giving him a glimpse right then of the kind of education he’ll be receiving for the next few years. He had been excited, looking forward to being able to serve his country, his _planet_ , even in this small way. Looking forward to being able to do something that his family – both past and present – would be proud of him for.

*

Looking at the base now, only five years later and not nearly long enough to feel as jaded, Yuuri just feels empty – the excitement and eagerness for the prospect of serving is gone, replaced by the vague doubt and apprehension. Doubt and apprehension he would probably be arrested for, if they lived under a government that prohibited free speech. The five years he had spent here, learning and working, had opened his eyes to the many unfair machinations that something even as good-willing as the United Forces of Earth can participate in, even _initiate_.

(Politics, Yuuri learns, is never clean, despite anyone’s wishes. But that’s the thing about power—it can never be truly equal, can never be held by a single entity and not corrupt or change.

As child in the evacuation center Yuuri wanted to have the power to make his—and his friends—life better. He thought that doing his best in learning, growing up, becoming an adult, and working hard would give him that power, that _ability_ , to make lives better. He believed that the adults somewhere out there are doing their best to make their life easier right now—someday, he’s going to be one of them, and he’s going to help make everyone else’s lives better.

 When he left the center and he started living with Yuki and Inaho, he found out that in the face of the conflict they were face—restoring their world, slowly as it is—he was powerless. Being an adult did not give him the ability nor the knowledge to be able to help his loved ones unless he gave himself the way Yuki did.

As he gets older his perception of power, politics, and—in turn—the government slowly changes. He encounters favoritism and unfair judgment; he witnesses how a colleague is denied one thing only for it to be granted to someone else, simply because they’re somehow better—in a higher rank, with more experience, from a more influential family. Yuuri learns that just because someone has power, they use it to make people’s lives better.

In some cases, they use it to make people’s lives _miserable_.)

This is just another one of those times – someone up there _must_ know that there are more civilians that haven’t been evacuated – if anything, there’s one APC that hasn’t been accounted for. They cannot say it has been destroyed, not if its blackbox is still working, and Yuuri understands, on a rational level, that their priority should be the protection of civilians, but those people still somewhere in the city are going to be left without any way to save themselves if the UFE forces leave _now_.

*

(Inaho once came home from school with homework. Would he rather sacrifice one person to save many, or sacrifice many to save one?

He had debated with Yuki about that for almost two hours. _‘If you were the one person, Nao-kun, or if it was Yuu-chan, I’d choose to save you over the rest of the planet,’_ Yuki had said, vehement and resolute in her choice. Yuuri had watched her face as she talked and realized that she really had no qualms sacrificing the rest of Earth if it meant saving either of his brothers.

 _‘Why do you have to sacrifice anyone when you can just find a way to save everyone?’_ Inaho had shot back, eyebrows scrunched in confusion and consternation. ‘ _Yuki-_ nee _, if you did that for either Yuu-_ nii _or me, and we survived, how do you expect us to live with the guilt?’_

Yuuri knew they were going to be at it for a while, so he had sighed and jumped in. _‘What if there was no way?’_ Yuuri asked. _‘You have five seconds to choose between one person and the rest of the planet. If you don’t choose, everyone dies.’_ He had looked at Yuki, watched as she watched him back. _‘I can always choose to sacrifice myself, if it comes down to it.’_ He shrugs, and then looks at Inaho. _‘If you survived in place of everyone else, that means you’ll have to honor their lives and pay them back for their sacrifice.’_

Inaho never did tell them what he had given as an answer to the assignment, and Yuuri always thought that it was just as well.)

*

If the higher ups won’t stay long enough to help those civilians… well, he isn’t sure how much _help_ he can be, but he sure as hell aren’t leaving them here.

He doesn’t notice that he’s been holding on to the steering wheel so tightly until he lets go, finally within the compound, and feels the itch of his blood rushing into the skin and meat of his hands. He is breathing hard, barely registering that Lieutenant Marito has left the vehicle and is currently talking to someone standing at the door. Captain Lee and his platoon has turned and left, probably for the mechanic’s tent, to get his member’s laser communications device running.

He follows closely behind the Lieutenant, rubbing his itching hands against his pants, waiting for his blood start circulating properly again. It feels uncomfortable, like there were a dozen ants crawling on his skin—if ants had pin-like legs.

He gets close enough to hear past the loud engines running around them to hear Lieutenant Marito say, “We still have someone fighting out there!” His voice is agitated, too loud in the face of the man he’s talking to, and a part of Yuuri wants to pull him back to say, _no, Lieutenant, calm down, no amount of screaming will get you anywhere_. There’s something lodged in his throat, though, and he fears that if he opens his mouth to push past through it he’ll be the one screaming.

“You’re the only one left, Lieutenant Koichiro Marito,” a woman’s voice answers, and both Yuuri and the Lieutenant turn their attention from the Sergeant to the woman behind her. She is beautiful, and young – her short blond hair frames her face perfectly, her curves accentuated by her blue uniform. Beside her stands a shorter woman – Asian, with dark hair and dark eyes, looking even _younger_ than the other one.

“And you are?” Marito demands, not moving at all as Yuuri, the Sergeant, and the two women salute each other.

“Darzana Magbaredge,” the blonde answers, unfazed at Marito’s blatant show of… disrespect? Whatever the hell they call not respecting someone’s rank is. “Captain of the amphibious assault ship Wadatsumi, 4th Fleet Escort Force.” She turns to the woman beside her. “This is Kaoru Mizusaki, my executive officer.” The woman – Captain Mizusaki – bows slightly, at her introduction. They both turn towards Yuuri and Marito at the same time – a strange and, had Yuuri been their subordinate, surely _intimidating_ act.

He wants to applaud Marito for his bravery, as he only steps forward – _aggressive,_ Yuuri notes from his body language – and says, “One of our people is still fighting in the Northern district! The only reason we’re still here is because she’s holding the Martian off!”

“She?” Captain Magbaredge repeats, her head rising in interest.

Yuuri’s heart skips a beat, hope rising in his chest. He can’t possibly mean –

“Warrant Officer Yuki Kaizuka,” Marito says, and Yuuri wants to fall to his knees at the utter relief, “Master Sergeant Katsuki’s older sister – ” Yuuri bows, when Marito gestures to him, straightening only to see a raised eyebrow greeting him “ – and a member of KG-7 Arion Augeron Platoon!”

The questioning, confused look immediately leaves the Captain’s face, replacing it with conviction and certainty. “A radio jamming field is covering the whole Shinawara area, and GPS is down, too.” Cold, heavy dread starts to run like ice through Yuuri’s veins, completely eradicating what little warmth the thought of Yuki being alive had given him, with every word that leaves the Captain’s voice. From the way he sees Marito’s back tense, he knows the man feels the same. “Even if we went out to rescue her, we will not be able to pinpoint her exact location.”

“But—”

“Our responsibility is to escort and protect the ferries that are carrying refugees.”

“There are still people who haven’t made it out,” Marito says, his voice so loud it’s almost coming out as a growl – the vehicles have gone, now, and it’s silent where they are standing, having this conversation – argument. Yuuri feels familiar tingles at the tips of his fingers, and clenches his hands against them. He takes one deep breath after another, trying to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. “My kids’ names weren’t on the passenger’s roster!”

All of them – the sergeant, a _stranger_ , to Yuuri, at least – look up to him at that, confusion in their gazes.

“My students!” he clarifies, but his tone – loud, demanding, _protective_ – still carries the same amount of weight as when he had called them _his kids_.

 _For all the times you whined about how annoying they are, you sure care a lot, don’t you, Lieutenant?_ Yuuri thinks, affectionate and inane.

Captain Magbaredge closes her eyes in thought at the Lieutenant’s words, before finally looking back up and looking straight at them. “Alright. I’ll put in a request to headquarters to form a rescue party. I’ll leave you one landing craft. However, if you cannot put together enough people to crew her, then I expect you to let this go.”

After that, she walks away – followed faithfully at her heels by her XO.

*

“I see several familiar names,” Yuuri murmurs, scrolling through the roster on his phone. “Inaho’s friends are here, too. They might be interested in helping rescue their friends.”

Marito’s head is cradled in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. He seems tired, and Yuuri almost forgets that he had survived an encounter with a Martian Kataphrakt merely hours before. “They’re trained in piloting _Kataphrakts_ , not ships, Yuuri,” he murmurs. “But we might have no other choice but to take them and hope they can apply what they know to a landing craft.”

Yuuri frowns, his eyes catching on a certain student’s name. “It says here you rated Nina Klein’s non-combat assist skills a 1, the highest you’ve given in your history as an instructor at the High School.” He looks up at Marito, who is squinting at him. “Non-combat skills are graded by their ability to move crafts that are _not_ Kataphrakts, am I correct?”

“Yes,” Marito says slowly, Yuuri’s point dawning on him as they continue looking at each other.

“We can probably find one or two Seamen among the passengers we have now. It will take some time, but it is possible.”

Marito nods, and he stands up. “I’ll make the call to figure out which ships they’re in. I hope they’re at the docks here and not all the way in Tokyo.” He leaves the small room they’ve been given to rest in, leaving Yuuri to his thoughts. He closes the document he has been scouring for an hour and opens his photos – the first one he sees, the latest he had taken, was of Viktor, ascending his Kataphrakt, looking like the beautiful hero he is probably being at the moment.

He pulls his phone closer to his chest, as if bringing the photo closer to his heart would warm him. It was a long shot, but he decides to try to call Viktor. If he doesn’t answer, Yuuri can at least leave a voicemail updating him on how he is.

The phone rings once, twice, thrice –

“ _Yuuri_ ,” Viktor’s voice comes through – choppy, but the voice is still clear enough for tears to spring up into his eyes. “ _Hello,_ lyubov _. To what do I owe this call?”_

There are so many things Yuuri wants to say. _My dead sister is alive. Yuki is fighting a Martian Kataphrakt alone. We have to find people to help us rescue Inaho and our dogs. I love you. I’m tired._ “I miss you,” he whispers, his voice shaky and tears slowly slipping down his cheeks.

As if he could see him crying, Viktor croons. “ _Oh, baby, please don’t cry,”_ he murmurs, “ _what can I do to make you feel better,_ lyubov _? How can I help you stop crying?”_

The concern, the _love_ makes it worse, and soon Yuuri is sobbing into his knees, his phone help up to his ear as Viktor coos and sings in his ear – his favorite lullabies, the songs that woke Yuuri from his nightmares, songs that Viktor’s mother used to sing to him as a child. Each song is interspersed with sweet words of _it’s okay,_ myshka, and _I love you, Yuuri, come back to me?_

It takes a while, but Yuuri finally gets his emotions back on track, sniffling softly against the sleeve of his jacket. He wishes he had accepted Viktor’s offer of getting his jacket from the sickbay; at least he would be warmer right now, and he would have something of Viktor’s to snuggle against.

“How are you?” he murmurs into the phone, sniffling and wiping his stinging eyes gently under his glasses. “Where are you?”

“ _Akita is as cold as Satan’s asshole_ ,” Viktor answers, “ _but we’ve stopped our journey South. We’ll be heading East for rescue instead.”_

“I’m surprised you know what Satan’s bottom feels like, Viktor,” he teases, “although I shouldn’t be, should I?”

“Lyubov, _please,_ ” Viktor says, but he’s laughing, and it feels good to hear his laughter – it’s beautiful, almost like music. Yuuri could listen to it forever and he would be perfectly content. “ _I still don’t know why we aren’t making our way to you down there,”_ he says. “ _If I could, I’d leave my platoon and fly to you,_ lyubov _.”_

“Don’t,” Yuuri says, the warmth replaced by dread. His voice is tight, choked. “There’s a Martian Kataphrakt in Shinawara.”

-

Viktor Nikiforov is a lot of things, but he has never been a patient man.

(Father used to tease him about it all the time, when he was younger; he’d say, _‘Leshka, you’ve spoiled the boy too much, look at him!’_

Mother would simply laugh, slapping Father on the shoulder in mirth before bending to press a kiss on Viktor’s forehead. ‘ _There is no such thing as spoiling my little Viten’ka too much, Mishka,’_ she would say, smirking at Father as she straightens up. _‘We have no military nonsense in this house!’_

In hindsight, mother’s coddling and father’s amusement at the way she was raising him probably _did_ affect how spoiled he’d become growing up; not even military school was able to beat it out of him—not his seniors banding together to beat the shit out of him that one time he had gotten _so_ drunk at a festival, not his instructors giving him twice the workload as his schoolmates, not his father’s colleagues in the military ‘whispering’ about how far below their expectations he falls…

Whether it was before, during, or after military school, he was still the same impatient, impulsive, hardheaded asshole he had been as a child when his father had caught him throwing a brick at his failed hedge sculpture.

“You’ve never been a patient child, Viten’ka,” Mother once told him, “not even before I started spoiling you to my heart’s content. What you wanted, you had to have—and you did _so much_ to be able to get it as fast as you can.” She pauses. “Maybe that’s why your father never really tried to change the way I raised you,” she continued. “You were impatient, but you worked hard to get results yourself.”)

 _Patience_ was never in his skill set. Especially when it came to beautiful, _beautiful_ Yuuri Katsuki.

He had asked the man out to dinner the night they had met, romanced him in a whirlwind, and pushed all boundaries he’s allowed to push without scaring Yuuri away within the next month; he’s pretty sure that if not for the actual _terror_ in Yuuri’s eyes whenever he tries to go further, he’d have bedded him in that timeframe, too. Their courtship had been quick, their fall fast and dangerous, but Viktor would never have it any other way.

So when he arrives at the Eastern docks, leaving the reporting to his co-captain – ignoring the plaintive _Lieutenant General_ sent his way – and storms over to the command center, saluting as he enters and going straight for the first person who looks to be in-charge. The man stands as he approaches, opening his mouth – but he closes it again, probably from whatever expression is on Viktor’s face.

He has not been able to calm himself down since Yuuri ended that call earlier, his voice choked and his words pouring ice into Viktor’s very core, the cold seeping under his skin and encroaching in his veins. He takes a deep breath, leaning forward to rest one hand on the desk between him and the other man, to avoid the rising urge to hit something, _anything._

“I want an update on the Shinawara situation,” he growls, “ _now_.”

-

The night wears on. Yuuri feels every second, every _minute_ , stretch on like a lifetime; every moment they spend here, in this dock, waiting, is another moment that his family is in danger, another moment that civilians could be hurt – _killed_. They have not gotten any other reports from the northern district since they arrived at the docks, and Yuuri believes that it’s better than hearing that all the civilians are _dead_.

The technicians that haven’t left yet are struggling to get their laser cameras around the city working well enough to at least send images; from time to time, they receive some feedback – grainy and unstable as they are – which makes them hopeful that maybe the city’s underground cables have not been destroyed by the Martians just yet.

Marito had dropped by the small room twice – once to give Yuuri a change of uniform, another to drop off a sandwich and a bottle of water. “Captain Lee said you might need it more than him,” he said, as he bites into his own sandwich. “I’ve found the kids, they’re willing to help. And we have a volunteer staff.”

“That’s great,” Yuuri had murmured, “but when will we be able to rescue them?”

“Probably in the morning,” Marito answers. He sighs. “I hate to say it, but we can’t really do anything when it’s dark. We’re going to be moving at the Martian’s advantage if we move now.”

Yuuri feels useless. He feels like he hasn’t moved in hours – the last time he looked out of the small curtained window, the sun had been setting, painting the sky in red and gold and violet. Melancholia had lanced through Yuuri at the sight, and he’d immediately pulled the curtains down to cover it. He looks around himself, now, and the small room is dark. There’s not much he can do here but wait until tomorrow’s rescue mission, but he’s sure there must be _something_ he could assist with. He just doesn’t know if he has the energy to be able to do anything and give more than halfhearted effort.

He sighs, and closes his eyes. He takes his extra uniform jacket from where he had stowed it on the table, wrapping it around his shoulders, to ward off the cold that he is only now registering. He curls up on the chair, his arms coming to rest on the desktop, hiding his face against the space between his arms and torso. He imagines Viktor is there with him, his hands soothing in his hair and on his back, his voice soft as he sings his lullabies against Yuuri’s ear.

He falls off to the thought of Viktor holding him in his arms, keeping him safe and warm and as far away from here as possible.

He does not dream.

-

Viktor paces.

There has been nothing, _nothing_ , since this afternoon, about Shinawara. Whatever jammers the Martians are using, they are powerful enough to block even the smallest of radio connections that the UFE tries to make. Attempts to send drones are shot down – literally – by something in the sky hidden by clouds and the starless universe—probably by the Landing Castle, or maybe they’ve deployed ground troops while the UFE had been scrambling to get communications running. Either way, there’s been nothing from any of their existing towers—not even from the goddamned base.

He clenches his fists, tries calling Yuuri again. This is the fourth time he had attempted, but Yuuri must have shut his phone down – Viktor should chastise him for that, but _later_ – and the call does not go through. Viktor doesn’t even know where he is – their last report indicated that the Martian is somewhere north of the city. Yuuri was able to make a call, so that must mean he’s somewhere far enough from danger, right?

But what if the Martian has moved, closer to where Yuuri is, and that’s why Viktor can’t reach him? Where could Yuuri be? How is he? Is he scared? Is he crying again, alone somewhere, not even able to call Viktor if he needs help?

Viktor looks up at his Kataphrakt, that same strange twinge in his blood singing at the sight.

(He remembers just a few days ago, when he had gotten called in to test the newest, shiniest Kataphrakt Ground unit yet, the Hofvarpnir. At first he was wary – he had just gotten comfortable with the new upgrades to his Morgenstern unit, and now they’re telling him he’ll have to pilot a new one?

“You won’t have to pilot the KG-10 if you really don’t want to,” his father had said over their long-distance call, the first one in months that happened because of business and not family. “The first core to stabilize had just been outfitted for the unit and—well, we wanted to know if it can be used for battle yet. And you’re our best pilot, Vitya.”

Viktor had sighed, leaning back against his chair and looking up at the ceiling to avoid his father’s gaze. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere with me, dad,” he says, “you’re obligated to compliment my merits.” When he looks back again, it’s to meet his father’s gaze with just as much of the calculating genius that the older man possessed. “Besides,” he murmurs, “it’s already on its way to Japan, isn’t it?”

General Mikhail Ivanovich Nikiforov smiles, slowly, first proud, and then smug, and finally – triumphant, as his son shakes his head in resignation to his fate. “It’s my win this round, Vitya,” he says, proud of himself. “Call your mother soon.”

Viktor rolls his eyes. “I will.”)

Hofvarpnir’s sleek silver lining _shines_ , as if in answer to the feeling in Viktor’s gut. Not for the first time, he gets the urge to just jump into the Kataphrakts and fly to Shinawara, rescue Yuuri himself, and get out. He’s move them North, back towards Akita, if the Martian decides to follow them; up here, Viktor is at an advantage, with the mountains and the snow and the visibility.

Every time he tries to move towards the machine, though, Yuuri’s words come back to him, his voice reminding Viktor that, just as he is desperate to keep his love safe, Yuuri is just as desperate to make sure Viktor and his family get out of the country safe, too. _Don’t_ , Yuuri had told him, and it’s the only thing that stops Viktor from getting into the cockpit.

 _Don’t risk yourself for me,_ his beautiful, irresistible lover whispers in his ear.

(Another, more sinister voice in his head sneers. _You would never risk yourself, your heart for someone, Viktor, you’re not that kind of man. Why should I risk mine?_

He decides to ignore that voice in favor of a softer, more soothing one; the voice of the one person in Viktor’s life who never chose themselves, not even when it mattered the most. _Every day is another day I fear I’d lose you to the world,_ Nika whispers, _you would risk yourself if you could, just for a chance to save the world._

What he wouldn’t give now, to be able to have the ability and the choice to do just that. If he couldn’t save Yuuri, what good is it that he can save the world?)

He rests his forehead against the cold metal of Hofvarpnir’s body, his insides churning with a mix of emotions that he has not felt since his childhood, standing alone in a snowy plain, lost and hurt and cold. “Yuuri,” he whispers against the metal, “Yuuri.”

(He remembers how sleek Hofvarpnir was, when he first saw it; shining in the moonlight of the bay, rising like putty in Viktor’s hands, moving as if it were part of Viktor’s body and not just a vessel used to power some helpless little human in a fight against almost monstrous technologies. It feels incredible – he has better control, better movement, better momentum, than he has ever had with his Morgenstern unit.

When he tells his father, it’s immediately assigned to him – KG-10 Horfvapnir, Unit 1: Pilot, Viktor Nikiforov. They rush rigged its comms to be compatible with the Morgenstern’s, seeing as the rest of his platoon is yet to be fitted with a KG-10; they spend hours, days, weeks doing and redoing drills—from basics to the most complicated strategy exercises—to integrate a new unit into their platoon. Their team dynamics do not visibly change, but Viktor—and his members, he’s sure—can feel the little ways where they leave just _that_ much more space between their own units and Viktor’s; the way they leave a bigger percentage of the field to Viktor to monitor.

In the last few days between his reassignment and the assassination attempt, Viktor had trained with his platoon in the Hofvarpnir, getting them used to the feel of having someone so vastly different from their own units that they had to compensate for its energy pulse.)

Rushing footsteps cause Viktor to pull away from his Kataphrakt so he’s standing straight, looking up at nothing at all. It would do no good for his men’s morale – and Viktor’s reputation – if he’s found moping against his Kataphrakt would it? He turns just as an ununiformed man slides to a stop in front of him, his salute sloppy as he pants.

“L-Lieutenant General Nikiforov?” he says, his eyes shining. There’s sweat gathering on his forehead.

Viktor nods. “At ease,” he adds, and watches as the man relaxes completely, losing his posture. _Not military personnel, and not in training, either,_ Viktor thinks. _What is the army thinking?_

“I-I had been sent to get you. There’s been a report from the UFE HQ in Shinawara, sir.”

Viktor does not move. His breathing stays even, and his face remains impassive. Outwards, he looks calm, ever the calculating man that had gotten him to his post at his age. Inside, though, he’s a mess of emotions. His lungs feel like they’re about to explode with the restriction of oxygen as his heartrate increases. Sweat gathers in his palms that he tries to surreptitiously wipe against his pants.

“And the nature of the report?” he asks, surprised that his voice is stable, strange, cold. He takes a silent breath, closing his eyes longer than a moment to be a blink, and uses that moment to lock up all his emotions in a small Yuuri-shaped box in his abdomen, close enough to his heart, but not completely engulfing it. When he opens his eyes, he feels as calm as he looks.

“A request for transport to be left as a rescue vehicle, sir,” the man says, pausing, before he scratches at the back of his neck. “Unfortunately that’s the extent of what I was allowed to know.”

“Will do,” Viktor answers. He starts to gesture for the man to lead him to the command post, but he stops. “Wait,” he says. “What is your name?”

The man – well, he looks too young to be called a man, really, but Viktor is not one to judge – looks at him strangely for a moment, as if this is the first time anyone has asked him that (and isn’t that just sad?) before smiling slightly. “Leo de la Iglesia, sir,” he says.

 _Ah_. The American General’s son, then. He has heard of General de la Iglesia once or twice, but never really got to work with him before; from the stories about him and his work ethic, he is slightly glad that he had been able to avoid the man for a long time. It does not seem likely that he will be able to avoid him for much longer, though. “Lead the way, then, Mr. de la Iglesia,” Viktor says.

He winces. “Please don’t call me that,” he murmurs. “I would much prefer to be called Leo, sir. I am not affiliated with the military, nor am I planning to be, but that’s a family conflict that you don’t need to be bothered with. If you would?” He gestures to the garage door, and Viktor acquiesces.

“Very well, then,” he says. After a pause in which they walk in silence, he says, “Thank you for your hard work, Leo.”

Family conflict or not, Viktor cannot help but feel resentment towards the General, not with the way that Leo seems to _glow_ at the simple acknowledgement of his efforts. His own father is deeply meshed in the affairs and politics of military and government as well, but he had treated Viktor as if he was the man’s greatest treasure; he had always thought that all fathers felt for and treated their children the same way.

As he watches the young man leading him, though, that image of fatherhood begins to burn in his mind.

-

Yuuri wakes to someone gently shaking his shoulder. For a moment he thinks it’s Inaho, trying to wake him before he ends up late for work, but the crick in his neck as he tries to move his head – as well as the numbness in his sleeping leg – forces reality to crash against him. His heartrate picks up, but it slows down again to normal as he catalogues his body.

He opens his eyes and blinks, owlishly, up at Marito. The man looks like death warmed over, stubble on his jaw and eyes bloodshot. His polo—usually pristine despite his drinking habits—is wrinkled, barely looking put together by suspenders and a shoulder holster that remains empty. Yuuri unconsciously reaches towards his own holster, digging into the flesh of his shoulder. His firearm is strapped in; he hadn’t had the chance to take it off since his dance session yesterday.

The room looks strangely dim – a quick glance towards the still covered window tells him that there’s weak sunlight pilfering through. For a moment he couldn’t quite believe that it’s only been twenty-four hours since he was mad enough to drive away from a refugee ship and back here, but the image of his family—his younger brother, Makkachin, Vicchan—floats in his mind and he forgets about the madness of it all.

“It’s first light,” Marito tells him. “The kids have arrived, and we have our ship. We’re leaving for the north district in an hour.”

Yuuri’s breath hitches, but he strengthens his resolve with a nod. “I’m ready.”

“Good,” is all Marito says, before they both leave the small room he has been sequestered into, moving towards the landing craft they had been allowed for this rescue mission.

*

There are four people standing in a neat little line in front of them, all of them looking too young, too determined.

(Especially the girl – she looks no older than _twelve_ , for god’s sakes, but then again, Yuki always did say that girls were magic. She stands with her back straight, and if not for the circles beneath her eyes Yuuri would have believed that she had a good night’s sleep before they assembled.

“My name is Nina,” she tells Yuuri, probably because he’d been staring at her almost stupidly. “Nina Klein. I’m friends with Inaho and Inko.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, feeling a blush dust his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Nina,” he says, “didn’t quite recognize you there.”

Nina simply giggles as she gestures towards two other boys with her, both of whom are watching her closely. Yuuri notes it with a sense of wry amusement—at least he has an idea why they volunteered for this. “This is Kisaki Matsuribi,” she says, and the brown haired one raises his hand in a mock salute. “He’s a combat pilot, but Instructor Marito’s probably going to put him on as a radio operator.” She waves to the other boy, one with dark hair and a pair of glasses. “And this is Yutaro Tsumugi.” He gives a snappier salute compared to Kisaki’s, but if Yuuri is allowed to judge by their appearance alone, he’d hazard to guess that Yutaro stands in the more serious side of the spectrum.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Yuuri says, smiling slightly, “and I’m glad you’ve volunteered for this excursion. I am Master Sergeant Yuuri Katsuki, Inaho Kaizuka’s older brother, and your Instructor Yuki Kaizuka’s younger brother. I hope to work well with all of you.”

And then he turns to the last of their volunteers, giving him a salute.

He salutes back. “Shigo Kakei, sir,” he says, “Senior Chief Petty Officer from the United Forces of Earth.”

Yuuri smiles. They have hope for this bunch yet.)

“Allow me to thank you all once again,” Marito is saying, “The six of us will now carry out the mission to rescue friendly forces and civilians still remaining in Shinawara’s northern district.”

Footsteps disrupt whatever he’s about to say next, as a familiar voice says, “Make that we seven.”

Marito and Yuuri turn towards the voice to find Captain Darzana Magbaredge, fully decked in her uniform. “Captain Magbaredge?” Yuuri murmurs.

“I have delegated our ferry escort duties to Executive Officer Mizusaki,” Captain Magbaredge says, her face impassive and her voice regal, brokering no disagreement—not that any of them even want to _dare_. “They are to rendezvous with us after the operation is complete. Let us get a move on.”

Marito pauses, and then salutes – Yuuri scrambles to follow, but Captain Magbaredge barely leaves him a glance.

“I’ve taken an interest in you, Lieutenant Koichiro Marito.”

Yuuri blinks, but he doesn’t think he’s imagining the strange tension between the both of them. He is not sure what Phichit would label it as – it does not seem as if they’re _attracted_ to each other, per se, but Yuuri can’t discount the fact that the way they’re staring at each other does make him feel like he’s intruding on something… private.

(“Yuuri, my dude,” Phichit says one day, “tone it down a little, will you? I don’t think I can breathe through the UST between you and that resident whatshisname.”

“UST?” Yuuri asks, confused but not bewildered. He had gotten used to Phichit’s quirks—including his strange vocabulary that probably only few others know. “And who? Do you mean Kane?”

Phichit blinks at him. It’s one of those looks—they’ve fondly—in Phichit’s case, anyway, Yuuri is just resigned to it by now—called them his _what the fuck, Yuuri Katsuki_ face. “UST? Unresolved sexual tension? You know, those longing looks, the eye-sex, undressing each other with your eyes…”

Yuuri watches Phichit for a moment, in silence, before his face heats up to a blush. He tries not to yell.

He ends up screaming.

“PHICHIT!”)

Yuuri feels the blush coming back to his cheeks as he continues to watch Captain Magbaredge and Lieutenant Marito. After a moment, he averts his focus, turning to watch the incoming sunrise instead.

Something catches his eye in the distance. When he looks—

“Look at that!” Nina exclaims, and Yuuri doesn’t need to be looking at her to know that she’s pointing at the same thing he’s looking at.

“A signal round,” one of the boys say, and this time, Yuuri isn’t too sure which of them says it, “three reds.”

“That’s… in the direction of the school,” Nina continues. She sounds flabbergasted—probably as confused as Yuuri, because he isn’t really sure what three red signal rounds mean.

Yuuri looks at Marito when he feels him tense up, and he’s staring at the sky with horror and disbelief warring in his features. Not for the first time Yuuri finds the Lieutenant handsome – a little rough around the edges, rugged in his words and actions, but attractive nonetheless, and suddenly he thinks he won’t be too surprised if Captain Magbaredge _is_ attracted to him.

“’Commencing attack’?!” Marito says. “What the hell!” he turns to Yuuri, who has frozen in place, still staring at Marito. “Is your sister _actually_ as crazy as I always said she was?!”

Yuuri swallows, and, unbidden, a rueful smiles crosses his face. He simply shrugs. “Um,” he says, “yes?”

“I suppose this means we are moving the mission to an earlier timeslot than anticipated?” Captain Magbaredge says, interrupting the not-conversation between Yuuri and Marito. Both of them turn to her, before glancing at each other.

“Yes,” Marito says, nodding at the kids behind them. “Get on the ship.” He salutes the Captain once again. “Thank you, Captain Magbaredge.” And then he’s gone, leaving Yuuri to stand in awkward silence with the captain.

He is pretty much useless in this mission, he knows – he’s an auxiliary head that lost his function when Captain Magbaredge stepped up to help them. He does not really mind that he’s been rendered moot – he’s actually _thankful,_ relieved that the responsibility has been lifted from his shoulders, as guilty as that makes him feel. He isn’t sure what he’s going to do during the mission, only what he’s expected to do after, and he doesn’t think that anyone would find it pleasing to have an extra pair of hands that won’t know what it’s doing, anyway.

He flinches when Captain Magbaredge turns to him, looking as if she’s assessing everything about him and then some. He wonders that she’s going to say about him, what she’s thinking at the moment.

“I have received communication from the Northern Regions,” she says suddenly, and Yuuri nearly yelps. As it is he jumps, his heart stopping before jackhammering in his chest, so fast that it’s painful to breathe. She does not look completely sympathetic, but there’s a softness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before when she looks at him again. “Lieutenant General Nikiforov is a powerful asset to the United Forces of Earth,” she tells him, “and he is persistent.” She pauses, continuing to scrutinize him. “His platoon will be escorting us from the rendezvous point onwards, and he will not be convinced otherwise.” She smiles. “If he wants, he can take over the UFE and the brass would willingly serve their heads to him on a silver platter.”

There’s a lump in his throat that he cannot swallow or talk around, but Yuuri persists. “W-Why do I need to know that?” he asks, hating that his voice is shaking and that his heart is beating _so loud in his head, make it stop._

“Be careful,” she says, and then she turns, following their new shipmates to the ship.

 _Careful_ , Yuuri thinks. He looks to the sky again. The rounds are gone, now, covered by clouds. _Viktor you foolish, foolish man,_ he thinks. _I love you so very, very much._

*

The ship is relatively silent, as they’re on their way. The noise only comes from the four who have volunteered to steer – Nina, being the best among them in non-combat steering, gets firsthand instructions from Captain Magbaredge herself. They don’t see much of whatever ‘attack’ had been commenced just a few minutes prior until they reach the city proper.

“Smoke rounds,” Marito murmurs from beside him. “They’re trying to make a smoke cover.” To the steering committee – and isn’t _that_ witty – he says, “circumnavigate the smoke rounds. Try not to propel too much air that you remove the cover; but don’t fly too high that you end up going over it, either.”

Yuuri looks in front of them again. “Whatever they’re covering from, it’s high enough that it might spot us if go too high,” he hedges, “but low enough that it _will_ spot us if we don’t use the cover they’ve given us.”

Marito nods. “So we use the cover the best that we can. At least now we know where to find the civilians.” He glances at Captain Magbaredge where she’s leaning over Nina, both he and Yuuri remembering her words yesterday. He clenches his jaw. “I just hope your sister knows what she’s doing, because she doesn’t look like she’s working alone, and I _saw_ the rest of our platoon get decimated by that Martian Kataphrakt.”

Yuuri’s stomach churns. He swallows. “So, whoever’s helping her is probably a student, then?” he says, feeling faint and nervous. “And, knowing him, it’s probably Inaho.”

Marito looks at him from the corner of his eye. “Don’t get sick on me now, Katsuki. I need you well and healthy enough to deal with whoever’s sick and dying in there.”

Yuuri nods. “You got it, Lieutenant,” he says, trying to pull as much mirth into his tone than he can manage to gather.

“We’re almost there!” Nina calls, and, without further words, both Yuuri and Marito run towards the deck of the ship. Yuuri fights to stay standing amidst the strong winds, but he thinks it’s worth it when, as he opens his eyes, he sees Yuki standing there, leading a pack of civilians.

“You alright, Kaizuka?” he hears Marito say, but Yuuri isn’t listening, because his eyes are roving each and every face as it appears from the tunnel where they must have passed from the school, and he still can’t find the face he’s looking for.

A pair of familiar barking distracts him enough to follow Marito as he jumps from the deck to the ground, just a few minutes before the engine idles and it lands with a quiet _thunk_ against the concrete. The door to the well opens and civilians pile into the holding dock, leaving Yuuri space to kneel before his two babies.

Vicchan and Makkachin brace their front paws on his shoulders, licking at his face and whining every now and then, as Marito and Yuki talk just to the side. He closes his eyes and lets his fingers run through the soft curls of their fur, giving them both kisses to the snout before leading them to the holding dock as well. Nina and two of the boys are there, and they laugh with delight at the sight of both the dogs.

Yuuri smiles, trusting them to take care of the babies before he turns to the street again.

Captain Magbaredge is now there, and she and Yuki and Marito make up a triangle of military force that Yuuri does not feel like he should be intruding into, but does anyway, because he needs answers.

“You’re telling me,” he hears Marito say, “that Kaizuka Jr. is _out there—”_ he gestures towards the smoke cover that they tried to avoid, earlier “— _fighting_ a Martian Kataphrakt with four other _students_?”

“Two students, a foreigner, and the civilian we rescued from the Martian,” Yuki corrects, and Yuuri winces at the sass in her voice. _Time and place,_ he chastises her, but before he could speak, she continues with, “ _you_ trained Nao and the rest yourself, Lieutenant, you should trust in their abilities more. They _are_ our hope if this war drags on.”

“It does not explain why you are here,” Captain Magbaredge says, her voice tight and her tone something close to condescending. Yuuri winces again, but someone from behind him talks before he could. “While they are out _there_.”

(Again.)

“I couldn’t let an injured person join a distraction operation,” the new voice says, and he looks back just as Marito lets out a plaintive sound, accompanied by a long-suffering sigh that Yuuri feels in his very bones.

“Should’ve fucking _known_ you were still here when I didn’t see your name on the stupid roster,” he mutters as the man in a lab coat joins their little square. He nods at the man in greeting, though. “Any one of them sick or dying? We have a medic here who could help.” He nods to Yuuri.

The man – a doctor, Yuuri sees now – laughs. He doesn’t remember his face, so they’ve probably never worked in the same area before; he looks old and settled enough that he was probably in a permanent position somewhere by the time Yuuri was doing his rounds as a resident.

He _laughs_.

(Laughter accompanies Phichit everywhere, every time. There’s not a single time or space that Phichit occupies that laughter does not follow. Even in the middle of dire situations—of civilians slowly bleeding out under their fingers; of a soldier desperately clutching on to an unconscious friend’s body—Phichit can ease the pain by cracking a joke or making a witty statement and making people _laugh_.)

“No, everyone here’s quite alright.” He gestures to Yuki – or, more specifically, to Yuki’s sling. “Warrant Officer Kaizuka has a broken arm and a concussion, two of things I’ve been told a pilot is not allowed to enter the cockpit with.” When he smiles, it’s equal parts mirth and pleasant, and it makes Yuuri trust him a little less.

“I’m Souma Yagarai,” the doctor says. “No one needs immediate medical help. At least,” he pauses, his eyes no boring into Marito – who rolls his eyes at the scrutiny, bless him and his thick skin, “unless _someone_ has a specific complaint in mind.”

“There’s _nothing_.” Marito turns to Yuki, gesturing at her to speak. “What does your brother expect us to do, then, leave them behind?”

Yuki recoils, the look on her face expressing the disbelief she feels towards the suggestion. “Of course not!” she almost yells. She looks around wildly, until her eyes land on Yuuri, who flinches at her cross expression. “ _Yuuri!_ ” she almost yells, before taking a deep breath, and then several more, to calm herself down, probably. When she opens her eyes again, the wild look is gone, replaced by the calm look of the soldier that she has become. “We are going to rescue the five civilians currently engaging a Martian Kataphrakt as a decoy mission to get the civilians into this ship. Inaho’s plan includes a rendezvous at the main bridge, in approximately 8 minutes.” There’s steel in her eyes when she addresses Marito. “Am I clear?”

Yuuri watches Captain Magbaredge from the corner of his eyes, noting her demeanor and the way her expression shifts from distrust to slight pride as she watches Yuki, and he feels vindictive. _That’s what you get for doubting my sister,_ he thinks, but he shakes his head free of the thought.

“Shouldn’t we all be getting on the ship, then?” he says, finally voicing out a thought without anyone interrupting him. Four sets of eyes rest on him for a moment before Marito nods.

“We’ll set course for the pick-up point.” He looks at Yuki. “You know where it is?”

She nods. “Let’s go.”

*

Yuuri feels like his heart is in his throat, watching as the trailer crosses the bridge, closely followed by a purple giant obviously out for blood. It’s apparently being driven by a civilian that Yuki and Lieutenant Marito had risked their hides to rescue and a foreigner that Inaho had befriended; acting first as transport to start the smokescreen they saw earlier, and then as decoy to lure that giant Martian Kataphrakt to the bridge.

 _If I’m this scared while I’m here, just how much more are_ they _over there?_

They’re moving as fast as they are able. Their rendezvous point still looks like it’s too far, and the clock is ticking. When he checks his watch, he sees that they only have three minutes left. He braces himself.

Yuki’s good hand is wrapped around one of his, her grip like iron and he fears for his circulation for a moment until his attention is taken by movement on the bridge. His throat closes up once more.

Marito curses as the trailer comes to a stop, having gotten hit by lampposts sent flying by the Martian Kataphrakt. Yuuri squeezes Yuki’s hand back.

“Now I wish our ships had cameras, too,” one of the boys mutters from where he sits at the helm, his hand tight around the steering wheel.

Yuuri holds his breath as the Kataphrakt stops moving, and it’s as if everything has stopped for a moment.

“One minute until we step in,” Captain Magbaredge says from where she’s perched on the Captain’s seat, but even she looks tense where she is. Her eyes are squinted against the glare of the sun against the bay water.

“Brace yourselves,” Marito instructs, when they’re finally close enough to see small details on the Martian Kataphrakt’s body. “Fire all missiles!” he says. “Target: enemy Kataphrakt.”

The ship rattles as all its missiles fire at once. Yuuri grabs for Yuki’s arm, and she pulls him closer to her body. All missiles make direct contact, but there seem to be no damage; it has done its job, though – the Kataphrakt stands still, until –

Another shot fires off –

Yuuri looks to the east and finds two Sleipnirs on the rocky beaches by the island; one has a long-range rifle, the other sits with its dock open. The rifle moves a few feet before firing off again – this time, it misses the Kataphrakt and hits the bridge, and _oh_.

There’s a third Sleipnir, waiting under the bridge, and _now_ Yuuri finally gets their plan. He’s immensely proud and at the same time worried sick; Inaho is, obviously, either a genius tactician or a reckless one. Either way, he’s resourceful. Yuuri is sickened by the thought of the military finding ways to use him in the future, especially when they have cause to – this war will obviously drag on.

A few more shots fired at the bridge, and—added to the damage it sustained from the chase and their transport ship’s missiles hitting it dead-on—it collapses under the weight of the Kataphrakt. Their landing craft has to pull back for a moment to avoid getting pulled under the waves it causes at it falls into the bay – and straight into the third Sleipnir’s line of fire.

 _That has to be Inaho,_ Yuuri thinks wildly. _He wouldn’t give the most dangerous job to anyone else._

A few seconds later, a handheld drone flies towards the Kataphrakt – it looks like a fly, honestly, compared to the Kataphrakt’s immense _size_. The Sleipnir moves.

Yuki and Yuuri clutch at each other almost desperately, and Yuuri knows that she must have reached the same conclusion as he has – that is their brother, charging towards the Kataphrakt.

“Full speed ahead!” Captain Magbaredge yells, just as Inaho shoves his rifle into the gap he has made with a blade.

The hold opens and Yuuri runs outside, ignoring the water that drenches him almost immediately, his ears ringing from the loud sound of the ship’s engines, accompanied by Inaho’s rifle still firing off into the Kataphrakt’s body. Soon, the Martian Kataphrakt hunkers down – for a moment it looks iridescent under the early morning light, something magical flowing up its body, before it recedes, and the machine falls into the water.

The ship slows to a stop under the bridge, almost close enough to the Sleipnir that Yuuri can probably jump and he could climb on.

From inside the bridge, he hears Marito ask, “They did it?”

Privately, Yuuri smiles to himself and thinks, _yes, yes they did._

Yuuri breathes out in relief, turning his head to look up to the sky, but something else catches his eye – its white and gold coloring piquing his interest and he turns to the side to see –

Yuuri feels his blood freeze in his veins.

 _Those aren’t the eyes of a princess,_ he remembers thinking to himself, as their eyes met right before she died, _those are the eyes of a scared little girl._

“The Martian Princess,” he says, choked and feeling his world tilt sideways. “You’re alive.”

This changes _everything_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooo cliffhanger
> 
> -
> 
> pls leave me some love  
>  **[EDIT 10/07]** After rereading the chapters i've posted i realized that i posted an unedited chapter. i have no fixed the discontinuity between Yuuri's knowledge of Viktor's Kataphrakt unit and the fact that Viktor was hanging out with another unit altogether. I'll be posting Chapter 7 in a little while. Thank you for holding on!


	5. Episode 4: Point of No Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After ten long years... i am back...  
>  **[10/22 EDIT]** Changed some aspects of the plot, and added a new possible plot point; improved the flow of worldbuilding and finALLY GAVE YUURI TIME TO REST GDI SELF. ALSO I FORGOT TO ADD PHICHIT IN THE ORIGINAL VERSION GODDAMN; improved the general writing and story telling lmao

_Where have I come from? Where do I go?_

 

* * *

-

_“This is justice!”_

*

_There something around his chest. He can’t move._

_He stares at his hands. They’re shaking. There’s blood – everywhere._

*

_“In response to the cowardly act of the Terrans who turned on Princess Asseylum, who came down to Earth in order to make herself a bridge of peace, we Orbital Knights must deal them a crushing blow!”_

*

_His ears, ringing. It hurts, and the tinny sound doesn’t seem to stop—oh._

_Oh, that’s because of the gun going off. Five times, the magazine now empty, ammunition shells littering his feet. They’re gold. Like her hair, when she laughs; like his smile, when he turns._

_Once when he demanded for the gun to be given back –_ you tried to assassinate the princess! -  _twice, thrice, four times…_

_His chest hurts, his mind is racing._

I did that.

I did this.

_The blood just won’t stop flowing._

_He doesn’t understand how it happened._

I was talking, she’s alive, he killed her, he wants her dead, who else is involved? Why did they try to kill her, why did they do that, what am I going to do, he’s dead, he’s _dead, he’s dead…_

*

_“The Terrans’ spilled blood will be our tribute to Her Highness!”_

-

Yuuri stands out in the deck, watching over the two other students – _Yutaro,_ his mind finally supplies, remembering the introductions they’ve made earlier that morning, when they got into the ship; _Yutaro and Kisaki_ – assist in getting the three Kataphrakts board the Wadatsumi. He watches – half amused, half terrified – as Kisaki dodges a Kataphrakt’s foot as it’s settling, clutching his heart and yelling something that Yuuri doesn’t catch above the screaming winds.

Yuuri sighs relief, too, as the Kataphrakt’s hold opens, the cockpit door opening afterwards. Inko pops out of the cockpit, and from the distance where he stands Yuuri can’t quite see her expression, but knowing her, it’s probably one of regret for almost stepping on a schoolmate.

Finally, the last – Inaho’s – Kataphrakt is reeled on to the deck. It crouches to let off its passengers – the two civilians who volunteered to help in the operation – _the princess, the princess, the princess_ – before it straightens up again. Yuuri steps forward to help the girls closer to the door, away from the water and the wind; he turns to watch as the cockpit door opens. Inaho emerges from the Kataphrakt’s hold, unzipping his brace as he climbs down from his perch.

As he opens the door to the ship, Yuuri is tempted to talk. _How are you alive?_ he wants to say. _I watched you die. I couldn’t save you. How can you be alive?_

He doesn’t. Instead, he leads them into the ship’s hold, silent, his heart still in his throat. He smiles when he hears familiar barking, crouching in time to catch two furry bodies – one large, one small – into his chest. He gets bowled over, but he isn’t surprised; one of these dogs _is_ as tall as he is when he stands. Both Vicchan and Makkachin whine as they lick at his face, their bodies wiggling with the force of their wagging tails, and Yuuri laughs. He had missed his babies, _terribly_.

“I’m sorry I stayed up there,” he murmurs to them both, scratching behind their ears, on their sides, under their bellies – basically anywhere he can reach with their bodies in constant motion. “I missed you both, too, but you were with Inaho, weren’t you? Didn’t you have fun with him and Yuki?”

Makkachin boofs, and finally, finally settles. His tail still wags where he stands, and he watches as Vicchan continues to rub against Yuuri, his whole body still wiggling. Yuuri finally relents, both of his arms coming around his pup and pulling him to his lap. “There you go,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry, Vicchan, I missed you too.” He kisses Vicchan’s nose – and the pup sneezes.

Right at his face.

“Right,” Yuuri says. “Okay.” He pulls his sleeve over his hand and uses it to wipe at his face—rather ineffectively. He needs a shower.

There’s a chuckle behind him, and he remembers that he is not as alone with his and Viktor’s babies as he had thought. With a blush high on his cheeks, he stands, hands patting his uniform free of dirt and – at least, a few – fur before he turns to his companions. He clears his throat.

Before he could speak, the ship rocks violently. Makkachin and Vicchan whine in alarm, but Yuuri runs outside again – only to see that his city, his _home_ , is now nothing but smoke and dust. It was as if something huge came from the sky and decided to land on Shinawara specifically – the city, its sights, its buildings – was gone, completely decimated. Yuuri is sure that when the smoke clears, he’ll see nothing but flattened earth and rubble. It would be as if nothing stood there in the first place.

His heart climbs his throat again, the memories of his life in Shinawara flashing in his mind, one by one. Memories of when he first moved in years ago, when the city had been trying to rebuild itself; of getting into the High School and reestablishing who he was as a growing teenager. Memories of places, moments, events of the past seven years—all of them gone, flattened as if they never existed.

He refuses to cry, refuses to let the tears slip. Had he been alone, though, he’s sure he would have started crying. _It’s as if everything that I have ever been has been completely erased_. Rationally he knows that there’s still the future to worry about, but at the same time, he can’t help but feel that there _isn’t_ going to be a future. There’s no sure way to know, but he gets the feeling that this is the enemy’s doing. It simply could not have been any natural phenomenon, not even despite the damage the city had received from the Kataphrakt now drowning in the bay.

And, if they are powerful enough to destroy a whole city in one fell stroke, who’s to say they won’t do so to the rest of humanity?

*

( _The Martians are monsters,_ he hears, as he grows up in the evacuation center. He’s old enough now to be able to understand that the adults are talking about who caused what happened. _The Martians are monsters, and they are out for blood._

Even his teachers don’t really know why the Martians decided to attack when they did, what their objectives could possibly have been, but one—popular—theory that kept popping up was that they did it to show Earth their might; they blew up the moon and came down to Earth during Heaven’s Fall to tell the citizens of Earth that _this is who we are, this is how strong we are, and you are nothing but vulnerable weaklings in the face of our power._

“But where did they get that power?” Yuuko asked their teacher once, in class. They were talking about what they know about the Martians—what little the military and the government are allowing the educational system to pass on to their students. “What makes them so different from us?”

Their teacher is an old man. His name was Makoto, and he asked everyone to call him _Makoto-sensei_ , even when the title meant little to their foreigner classmates. He sighed and Yuuko and looked outside the window—it was the kind of day where you can see the moon but it’s the middle of the day. What little of the moon that was left shone brightly against the light blue sky; its fragments, though, looked like small black spots around where it exploded in the first place.

“The Martians came from Earth, just like us,” Makoto-sensei answered, slowly. His voice seemed sad. “The man we call the Emperor of Vers was a Researcher who went with the expedition to put man on the Moon, nearly forty years ago. He received the power of the Gods, and he left Earth to make a home of Mars—back then, it was a planet we knew nothing about.

“No one would have thought that a single man’s decision to choose his own power over the planet would be cause such strife.”

When he looked back into the class again, he looks even older than he really is. He looks Yuuko, and shakes his head, smiling slightly at them.

“They aren’t so different from us, little Yuuko,” Makoto-sensei said. “One day, you’ll learn enough about our history to know why they have the power that they do, but let’s continue our discussion on language instead, why don’t we?”)

*

The ship’s going fast enough that the wind hurts his face, but it’s not fast enough to get out of the smoke and dust storm that follows the impact of Shinawara completely disappearing. He blinks his eyes when they start stinging, deciding instead to look around him. The two ladies he had escorted into the ship are standing outside again, both of them looking toward the city as well. He’s glad that neither of his dogs followed them.

Inaho, his friends, Yutaro and Kisaki – they’re simply standing there, their faces painted with the same pain and disbelief that Yuuri had felt.

Maybe, just like him, they had been hoping to be able to go back to the city after the war – to go back to school, or to help restore it since they had fought a Martian Kataphrakt in the vicinity. Maybe, just like him, their attachment to the memories held by the city was making them feel just as lost and terrified.

_Do they think they’re just as powerless to fight as I do?_

“What?” Inko says, her voice shaky. “What just happened? What was _that_?”

“The landing craft’s radar picked up multiple bodies above Shinawara,” Yutaro answers. “…it’s a meteor bombardment.”

“ _Damned Martians_ ,” one of the other boys says, and Yuuri is inclined to agree – except for one thing.

It’s not the Martians who are damned, not now – it’s them.

He shakes his head clear from the thought, following his instinct now to move closer to his younger brother. He doesn’t touch Inaho – neither of them have ever been quite tactile in their affection, even as children – but he stays close enough that Inaho turns toward him, moves just one step behind him as Yuuri pulls close in a protective stance he has been taking for _years_.

After a long bout of silence, Yuuri says, “you did amazing, out there.” He says it soft, almost too soft that he himself couldn’t hear it, but he knows that Inaho did by the way that he shifted where he stood. “I’m proud of you.”

“…You’re not mad?” There’s an unfamiliar note in Inaho’s voice, as he asks that question – a note that Yuuri has not heard since the child was seven and cooking their breakfast – omelet and fried rice – for the first time, standing in front of the kitchen door to prevent Yuuri and Yuki from entering the warzone, a small, nervous _you’ll eat it?_ coming from a child they both usually knew to be stoic and sure of himself. Uncertainty, Yuuri detects; there is uncertainty in his brother’s tone, and Yuuri does not even know how to deal with his own, how can he be expected to help deal with someone else’s?

_With his brother’s?_

He does what he thinks is best: he reaches back, takes Inaho’s hand for a moment (it’s cold and clammy and oh _god, I wonder just how terrified he must have been?_ He’d thought Inaho was so brave, so strong, to do something as dangerous as face the enemy as closely as he had, yet here his brother is, _baby brother_ again, nervous and uncertain and – not scared, but wanting assurance and safety nonetheless. How could he be expected to be _good enough_ for this boy?) and gives it a squeeze. He almost lets go, but an answering squeeze has him hesitating for another moment.

And then he smiles. When he turns to face Inaho again, they are both relatively back to their normal headspaces. “I can’t say the same for Yuki, though.”

Inaho looks at him for a moment, before a startled little laugh comes forth – small as the sound is, it relieves Yuuri more than Inaho telling him _thank you_ would have. He turns to their civilian charges, gesturing for the both of them to enter the ship hold once more.

“Please, let us all go back inside.” He surveys the students – children, he reminds himself, _these are children, being forced to grow up in a ruthless world of war_ – and tries his best to pull rank.

(Well, he can only _try_ , can’t he? He has never really done it before, never really tried; it’s not like it’s something he can keep doing and sleep well at night. His anxieties would _kill_ him.)

“I’m sure _some_ of us have reports we will be required to make.”

*

(He does not miss the look passed between the two girls, and then between them and Inaho.

Yuuri catches his brother’s arm before he could enter, seeing that their sister is already right inside, good arm holding on to Makkachin’s lead. Vicchan is between her legs.

He would have no other chance to do this except now.

“We need to talk,” he says, and Inaho does not need to answer. The way he looks up towards the civilian – _the princess_ – is confirmation enough of what they both know Yuuri knows. There’s no need to lie, not between them; never between them, and not about this. Besides, neither of them has ever been a good liar, anyway.

He’s sure Inaho doesn’t see the point in starting now. He nods, imperceptibly, and Yuuri relinquishes his hold. He follows after his brother silently.)

*

“Good work out there, Nao.”

Yuuri looks up from where he’s crouched, his hands buried in Makkachin’s fur. Yuki stands before Inaho, a small smile on her face, but he can see the storm in her eyes – a storm of _worry_ and _why_ and _I’m glad you’re safe_.

Yuuri glances at Inaho just in time to catch his eyes for a moment before he looks away. “Yuki- _nee_ …”

“I mean it,” she says, moving closer to Inaho. Yuuri straightens up, smiling at her when she looks towards him. “Good job.” Some mirth finally crosses her expression, her tone turning teasing as she continues with, “it’s all thanks to your good-natured, beautiful instructor, I’m sure.”

Yuuri laughs. “I’ll tell the Lieutenant you think he’s beautiful, Yuki,” he teases back, and laughs at the indignant _‘hey’_ that it gets him.

“You did good,” Yuki reassures, tilting her head for a moment. And then she looks at Yuuri. “You both did.”

Yuuri can’t see what expression is on Inaho’s face, but he is certain that there’s a small smile there, a small, _proud_ smile. “You, too, Yuki- _nee_ ,” he says. “How were things while we were out there?”

“You might never believe it, but just as we left the tunnels, Yuuri was there, looking like some misplaced knight in shining armor, atop his noble steed—if you can call a ship a steed,” she answers. “He just stood there and looked at us and _man_ , if he weren’t our brother I might have swooned.”

“Yuki,” Yuuri warns, “ _stop teasing._ ”

She doesn’t listen, though. She turns a knowing look at him, and, with a smirk, says, “Don’t even get me started with Vik – ”

*

Throughout his life, Yuuri has gotten the feeling that his world was tilting on its axis, like the world was falling sideways and the rug was getting pulled from under his feet, several times. His lungs drop to his stomach, his throat clogs up with terror and regret, and he his skin prickles, like whatever oblivion his mind has made up was filled with ozone and lightning.

When his world _literally_ tilts on its axis, he barely has time to feel any of those before he falls on his ass, his arms coming up to catch two dogs who scramble to dig their claws on metal.

( _screeeeeeeeeeeeeeech_ )

*

“Sheesh, what is the helmsman doing?!” Yuki almost yells, pulling away from where she had accidentally pinned Inaho against the wall. There’s a red spot on her forehead that matches another one on Inaho’s; Yuuri is suddenly very thankful that he had fallen on the floor and not on another person.

He pats Vicchan’s flank, pushing the pup off of where he was sprawled on Yuuri’s chest, sitting up slowly. The ship is stable again, at least, and he hopes that there won’t be any more… untoward rocking until they get to their destination.

(Yuuri doesn’t think of what’s going to happen after, not even when it ensures that he gets to see Viktor again. Captain Magbaredge’s words swirl in his head like a tornado, picking up speed with every second that passes that he thinks of it, so he doesn’t. So far, it works in keeping his nerves in check.)

As he straightens up, he sees the princess walking towards—well, not _him_ , but towards the small pile their family makes. He wonders how they must look—a lady of the military, a medic, a student, and two fur children, dependent on one another and a complete family unit.

(“We _are_ family,” Yuuri assures Inaho, after one too many times the boy gets picked on for being an orphan. Children are cruel like that—they’re naïve, and uninformed, and they take out their lack of experience on other children who do not experience the world the same way they do.

“We are?” Inaho asks, and Yuuri hates the uncertain tone in Inaho’s voice. Inaho shouldn’t have to be uncertain, he shouldn’t have to doubt the fact that they’re a family; this is the boy who set up a trap in the evacuation center after some of the older kids decided to bully Vicchan. This is the boy who threw a goddamned brick at a boy almost _twice his size_ when he tripped Yuki one day.

“Yes, we are,” Yuuri says, and it’s final. “You, me, and Vicchan, we are a family. It doesn’t matter what people say. A family doesn’t need a mom and a dad to be complete – it just needs love and care and we have that, don’t we?”

Inaho nods, finally straightening from the little ball he had made after the kids left him alone. “Yes,” he says, nodding again before taking Yuuri’s hand—strange enough for him, even stranger when he _smiles_ —“Yes, we are a family, and we always will. You’ll always be my brother, right?”

Yuuri grins, raising a hand and stretching his pinky finger towards Inaho, _his brother_. “Promise.”)

The princess—or, well, her… alter ego? At least, the civilian form that the princess had _taken_ —stops just shy of touching Yuki at an arm’s length.

Whatever rant Yuki plans on dies off in her throat as she catches sight of her, standing their innocuously, as if her death – _whatever_ the hell that had been – hadn’t been the catalyst for all this chaos, for Inaho _losing his home—_

(Yuuri knows it’s not fair, and tries to stop his thoughts from spiraling further; he knows that it is not this girl’s fault, that to leave the burden of starting this war on such frail shoulders is like putting the noose around her neck himself –

But he is lost, and he is angry, and he does not want to blame _anyone_ and he has carried her death on his shoulder, has carried the blame for starting this war in his chest…

He breathes out. _It’s not her fault,_ he tells himself. _And it’s not yours, either. She is alive, so she must know something._

It does not help, and he does not calm…)

“Um,” the girl says, and Yuuri’s whole world almost stops. No one pauses to notice that he has frozen where he stands, and he finally realizes that it’s probably because Inaho doesn’t _know_ – he doesn’t know that it had been Yuuri, in-charge of that area, right where the last missile had fallen on the girl who looked like the princess on that fated morning.

 _None_ of them did – except Yuki, but she does not know that the girl standing before them now is the princess, actually alive, and probably using some sort of Martian magic to hide her true appearance behind the appearance of a red-haired young lady. Yuuri studies that smaller girl in her presence. A – what, handmaiden?

“…Yes?” Inaho prompts, in the silence that follows.

“I would like to thank you for earlier,” she says, “er…?”

When the pause goes on too long, Yuuri has to nudge Inaho to respond – and when he does, Yuuri is relieved that he had gotten what was expected of him. “Inaho,” he says. “Inaho Kaizuka.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Inaho, I am – ”

 _Freeze_. Even _Inaho_ looks tense where he stands, and the smaller girl had gasped, her eyes wide as she stares at the _princess, is she really going to say it, is she going to admit that she’s alive –_

“ – please, call me Seylum,” she finishes.

The relief from the sigh that the smaller girl lets go of is so palpable Yuuri can almost taste it, but to be honest – he’s glad she had not. As long as they kept her being alive secret, they can find out more about why she had been killed, why there are people out there who had wanted her dead.

“Then please allow me, Ms. Seylum,” Inaho answers. Yuuri looks away from Inaho’s back and studies Yuki, who looks from Inaho to – to Seylum, and then again, her expression changing from confused to sly, and Yuuri smiles, a little resigned. Well, whatever the circumstances, Yuki is still Yuki, he supposes.

“If it is not too much trouble,” Seylum says, “perhaps you could show me around the ship?” She glances at the – _handmaiden?_ – behind her. “I’m sure Eddelrituo here would like it as well.” And then she looks farther, towards the other girl, who’s leaning against the wall and _really, Yuuri, how could you have forgotten_ her _?_

She looks like she’s one of those characters Viktor loves so much in fiction—the silent, broody types with tragic backstories and who use abrasive sarcasm as coping mechanisms; those who are all balls of angst and emotion but whose ability to care and love run deep, deeper than the ocean, or so Viktor would say. Yuuri shudders. According to Yuki, either one of them was a civilian she and Lieutenant Marito had risked their necks to rescue after their platoon made contact with the Kataphrakt back in the bridge. A tragic back story—for either of them—would not be too far from the truth.

By the way she looks back at her, Yuuri is sure she knows what he does, too – certain of it, since she _had_ been on that bridge with the princess, and if he had seen her from a distance, she must have seen her up close. He does not understand the obvious animosity by which her expression changes, though – her posture is closed off, hostile; obviously, Seylum is not welcome in her sphere of personal space.

 _Sometimes,_ Viktor would say, _sometimes these characters don’t want to be understand. Sometimes, they want to understand the world—they’re the kind of people who wouldn’t grow until they understood the world, and other people, a little better._ Yuuri frowns. He never would have thought he’d one day come face-to-face with someone he compares to Viktor’s favorite fictional characters.

 _I’m sorry,_ he offers to the girl in the silence of his mind.

Seylum turns towards Inaho once more, when he does not answer immediately. “Mr. Inaho?” she prompts.

Yuki pats Inaho in the shoulder – _she probably wants to look encouraging; based on Inaho’s preferences of socialization, which is to say, none at all, it probably feels patronizing._ Inaho looks back towards Yuuri, his face blank and his eyes resigned but fond, and Yuuri chuckles but shakes his head. _I’m not getting you out of this one, little brother._

When Inaho turns back to Yuki, she grins, popping a thumb, a gesture that has Inaho pouting, looking annoyed and put out, and Yuuri laughs out loud this time. Inaho looks at him, his eyes narrowed, and he immediately regrets laughing because –

“I would be glad to, Miss Seylum,” Inaho says, facing Seylum once again, “but I am not a crew on this ship and this is my first time on it as well. I would like to invite my brother, Sergeant Yuuri Katsuki, to tour us instead.”

“Nao,” Yuki groans, probably for a reason completely different from why Yuuri sighs.

“It’s Master Sergeant now, Inaho,” Yuuri says mildly, “but I would be more than glad to give you the tour if you would like. Yuki?”

She is shaking her head, her palm cradling her face. “I’ll be visiting Doctor Yagarai for my arm again. Have fun.”

(Yuuri simply smiles at Yuki when she turns a glare to him, shrugging when it intensifies. She harrumphs and walks away, much to their guests’ amusement.

Yuki had always dreamt that one of her brothers would marry into a rich, all-important family; she’s secure with Yuuri in that respect, what with Viktor and the whole god damned Nikiforov empire, but Inaho had always been a little trickier. For a while, both Yuki and Yuuri thought Inaho would end up getting together with Inko—they’ve known each other since they were nine years old, and they had the healthy mix of affection and competition going on for them, but a few years into formal schooling and socialization with other children and those thoughts were flushed down the drain.

Although Inko never seemed to have gotten over her childhood crush, it seems to not be going anywhere; it doesn’t seem like she’s hoping for it to, either. And Inaho – well. Inaho has never really expressed any kind of lasting, deep interest in anyone before; not even enough for them to have an inkling as to what his type is.

 _If only you knew, though,_ Yuuri thinks, shooting one last look at Yuki’s back. _You’re trying to set him up with a freaking Princess._ )

*

Eddelrituo’s – and, really, what a name is that – exclamation of protest went unheeded, as Seylum cups one hand in another and pulls them to her chest.  “It’s all right,” Seylum says, and then –

For a moment, Yuuri isn’t sure of what exactly it is he sees – there’s a flash of lights, bright and almost blinding. It reminds Yuuri of a scene from his lost childhood: staring at the sea, when a wave reflects the sun in a way that hurts his eyes. One second, he’s looking at a red-haired little girl; the next, he’s staring at a blonde beauty, decked in a flowing white dress, her green eyes sparkling as she addresses Inaho.

“Let us try that again,” she says, and even her _voice_ is different – the way she talks, the way she addresses them, is utterly different to the way she had been speaking earlier. She sounds regal, powerful; she sounds like a _princess_. “I am Asseylum Vers Allusia, granddaughter of the Emperor of Vers.”

There’s a pregnant pause after her announcement, in which Yuuri stares at his little brother from the corner of his eyes. He stands by the door of the small vault room they’ve found for the purpose of sharing this… _heavy_ information – information he is sure he’s supposed to report to his superiors.

(He does not have superiors present in the ship, he rationalizes to himself; the closes he has would be Captain Magbaredge, but he is part of the medical staff; there’s no head of department here to report to. He’s his own boss, until they find him a better assignment.)

Yuuri consciously keeps himself from reacting when Inaho ends up raising his hand, one finger raised, pointing at the princess. He wishes he could, but he barely stops himself from slapping his forehead. “That’s the real you?” Inaho asks.

“My earlier appearance is the result of what I am told is a form of optical camouflage that employs holography,” Asseylum answers, as if she was not slowly revealing to them the extent of what their Versian technologies are capable of reaching. Her tone is easy, light; Yuuri begins to suspect that, just maybe, she’s… just a little clueless.

“The princess was assassinated on the day of the parade,” Inaho says, and Yuuri feels his back tense at the reminder. “I saw the whole thing.” He pauses, and then glances towards Yuuri, as if imploring him for something. Yuuri nods, not sure what he is agreeing to, but trusting his brother regardless. “My brother was there.” He looked up at Asseylum again, and this time, his voice is hard, demanding of answers to non-questions. “He was hurt trying to rescue the princess from a missile when she was stuck in her vehicle.”

Asseylum’s face shutters, and she breaks eye contact to look down on the floor. “She is –”

“A double,” Eddelrittuo interrupts, surprising Yuuri – he never would have pegged her to have the guts to interrupt her princess like that. Judging by the way Asseylum turns to look at her, she feels the same way – although there’s a hint of something else in her eyes, too. Pride, maybe? The look goes away, and she looks down once again. “Her Highness was not feeling well that day,” Eddelrittuo continues, “thus the security detail leader insisted that a double be used in her stead. She was feeling sick because of the shift in gravity between the surface of the Earth and the simulated atmosphere of the Landing Castle.”

 _So I was right,_ Yuuri thinks. _That wasn’t a princess. She_ was _just a little girl._ And then he jolts at her words – _Landing Castle._ They survive on a _simulated atmosphere_ capable of life support, in _space_. He feels his dizziness come back around, but he holds his ground. He has slept a total of ten hours in the past three days, seven of which were spent knocked out because of his injuries and sedatives. Maybe he _does_ need rest, but he perseveres—at least until this conversation is finished, then he’d find a room to curl up in and just _sleep_.

“So that _wasn’t_ just a hypothesis,” Inaho murmurs, to Yuuri’s confusion. Before he could ask, though, Asseylum speaks up once more, this time with more fervor in her voice, more passion.

“When my grandfather the Emperor learns that I am alive and well, this war will come to an end immediately.” She takes a step forward, one hand clenched by her chest. “I wish to get in touch with Vers as soon as possible.”

“How?” Inaho asks. “At the very least, that would be impossible to do from here. Versian jamming devices make long-range communications impossible, and our telecommunication satellites have been destroyed, so we cannot use the web, either. Our underground cables have been severed, making lined communication anywhere impossible as well.”

There’s another pause. The tension is so thick in the air that Yuuri could barely breathe; finally, he understands what the line, ‘cut the tension with a knife’ means. Inaho does not seem forthcoming with any suggestion, content with just waiting for a response to his question – something that neither the princess nor her maid seems to have at the moment. He decides it’s maybe time to step up, to stop being the silent watcher and take action in this situation himself.

“Right now,” he says, barely stopping the flinch when four pairs of eyes turn to him, “we are on our way to possibly the safest place we can be taken, as refugees and as members of the Terran populace.” He looks straight at Asseylum. “We can take you to a facility that can contact the Vers government.” He hesitates. “I can talk to the higher ups about giving you access, once we reach our destination.”

“You mustn’t!” Eddelrittuo nearly yells, her voice harsh and almost grating to Yuuri’s flayed nerves. “There’s a spy hidden among your people, someone in leagues with the assassins, no doubt! The spy, as well as their cohorts, wishes to see the Princess dead!”

Yuuri gulps.

“I do apologize for dragging you into our problems,” Asseylum says, her voice soft and almost too low to hear. “I am grateful that you are willing to assist us, but for now, I ask to keep this matter among us.” She takes a deep breath. “And there is one more truth that I feel I owe you all, not only for being my rescuers, but also for being citizens of Earth.”

Yuuri clenches his jaw, gathering all his courage and hoping he’ll be able to pull the ruse off. “I am not assisting you for your sake,” Yuuri says, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. “I wish only to assist you to end this senseless slaughter and chaos of my people. I will keep your identity hidden in the understanding that you _will_ do your best to end what _your_ visit has started.” He feels his hands start to shake, so he pulls his fingers in and clenches them in a fist. “Should this secret put my brother or sister in peril, I will _not_ hesitate to use you against your government myself.”

“How dare you – ” Eddelrittuo begins, but Asseylums cuts her off with her own words.

“I understand, Master Sergeant Katsuki,” she murmurs, bowing by the waist – much to her handmaiden’s disbelief, “and I agree to your stipulations.” She takes a deep breath. “This peace mission was not one hundred per cent for the sake of peace, as I had originally planned it to be.” She keeps her eyes downcast, her hands curled around each other. Eddelrittuo looks like she wants to say something, but she holds herself back; Yuuri thinks maybe she’s someone not too used to self-control. “Indeed, I planned this visit to be a peace effort, but there is also something else.

“Master Sergeant Katsuki, you mentioned your brother and sister, and I understand how far you are willing to go to ensure their safety.” This time, she looks up, meeting Yuuri’s gaze head-on. “I came here after hearing that my father’s eldest son, the Crown Prince of Vers, who was said to have died during the Hypergate Explosion, may not have been on the moon when it happened. Some confidential records I have found stated that he was sent to Earth, as early as five years before Heaven’s Fall, and that he might still be here, somewhere.

“I came to Earth to take my brother home.”

*

“Shouldn’t you stay with your guests?” Yuuri asks, not looking behind him and continuing forward. He had heard footsteps following him out of the room and down the hallway when he had left the ladies after Princess Asseylum— _Seylum_ —and her grand speech about her motives. “They might find you rude.”

“Thank you, Yuu-nii,” Inaho says, and Yuuri stops. He turns around, only to find Inaho standing still and staring at him, a few feet away. “Thank you for being able to say something I could not verbalize.”

Yuuri tries to smile, but it feels tired and strained, even to him. “That’s fine,” he whispers. “Please make sure that they are comfortable, yes?”

Inaho nods, and turns away. He does not look back.

*

Yuuri finds a small isolated room somewhere a little ways away from the vault room where they had just had that conversation. It’s empty save for a table that’s been vaulted to the wall, above which a small window looks outside the side of the ship.

He walks over and takes off his jacket, and then his shirt, unbuckling his suspender and putting his holster aside. His undershirt is damp with sweat and saltwater, and he wonders for a moment if he’ll get sick; he never did have the best immune system out there. He bunches up the jacket and the shirt underneath it, setting it on one end of the table. He pulls out his phone and goes to his music app, setting it on the lowest volume and letting it play out. He’ll have to find a charging port, and soon—he’s only at 30 per cent as is, it’ll die soon if he doesn’t.

He goes through a few minutes of stretches, feeling blood circulate through his arms and shoulders better than they did with his suspenders and holster on. Maybe he’ll have to readjust how tight they are to compensate—he didn’t really take his chub into consideration when he put it on earlier this morning.

After his stretches, Yuuri finally, finally climbs on to the table, resting his head on his bundle of clothes. The metal is cold under his back and on the exposed skin of his arms, and it isn’t really the softest of surfaces, but for now it will have to do—he’s tired enough that he’ll drop off at any moment, anyway.

Before he loses consciousness, images run through his mind—Mari, bent over a military vehicle, only this time, she smiles at him instead of scowling; Inaho, jumping off of the Kataphrakt’s pilot tram; Viktor, standing in the middle of a snowy field, lost and alone and cold, so cold…

*

Yuuri finds Yuki by the bridge, an exoskeleton wrapped around her injured arm. He had gotten about an hour’s worth of sleep, before his restless mind decided it had had enough of a paralyzed body and shook him out of it with a nightmare he barely remembers now. He had walked, almost zombie-like, getting lost three times until finally he found the way to the deck, and from there, to the bridge.

He takes Vicchan’s and Makkachin’s leads, accepting a copy of the ship’s map from Marito on his way back out. Captain Magbaredge does not acknowledge his presence aside from a nod that he returns, and soon, he’s walking back out to the hallways once more.

He familiarizes himself with the map for a few minutes before pushing it into his pocket, noting that one room was highlighted with a scribbled ‘rest here’ at the margins. He smiles at the thoughtfulness and pulls the dogs towards the direction of the room. _I hope that one at least has a cot._

He peers through windows and opens doors in the hallways that he passes, noting vault rooms, janitor’s closets, restrooms, and empty halls as he does so. He gets to the hold and finds the civilians he had helped earlier, now including Seylum – he nods to her in acknowledgment – and her handmaiden, sleeping against the princess’s arm. Inaho’s friends are there as well, huddled together in one corner.

Makkachin boofs, nudging at Yuuri’s leg. When he looks, he finds a little girl slowly crawling towards Vicchan, who is staring at her curiously. He drops to a crouch and releases the snap of the leash from his collar. “Hello,” he murmurs to the little girl, who looks at him. There’s fear and confusion in her eyes, but also wonder; he looks beyond her shoulder to see that her mother is there, staring at them with a faraway smile on her face. “What’s your name?” he asks her.

“Alice,” she answers, her voice soft and shy. “Can I pet him?”

Yuuri grins and pushes Vicchan by the rump, encouraging him to finally approach the girl and push his snout against her hand. She giggles at the action, sitting up properly and letting Vicchan crawl into her lap. She laughs even harder when Vicchan starts to lick at her face, and Yuuri decides to release Makkachin as well. The much larger dog is gentler when she plays with Alice, to Yuuri’s relief.

Soon it’s not just Alice playing with the pups – there’s a little boy, who introduces himself as Kazu; and a pair of twins who are too young to be able to speak, brought over by their parents. The space is soon filled with the easy, effortless laughter of children and random barks and whines of dogs – sounds that Yuuri remembers from his childhood, from a government-enforced space for orphans just like him… sounds that he wishes he could be able to enjoy under different circumstances.

Yuuri startles when he feels something tug at his sleeve, and he looks up to see a small boy. He has scratches all over his face and arms and his clothes are dirty. One of the wounds on his hands is bleeding, and Yuuri immediately goes into work mode. He takes out the small first-aid kit that all the medical staff have on hand, strapped to his belt at the back, and slowly cleans and patches up the little boy’s wound. He does not wince, nor does he complain or cry; he just lets Yuuri do his job, sitting on Yuuri’s lap when he’s done.

“What’s your name?” Yuuri asks him, one hand coming around to wrap around the boy’s waist to steady him. The boy leans against his chest to rest.

“Vincent,” the boy says absently, running his injured hand back and forth on Yuuri’s thighs. “What’s your name?” he asks back.

“My name is Yuuri. It’s nice to meet you, Vincent.”

“Are you a doctor, Yuuri?” Vincent asks again, and this time he looks up at Yuuri – but he does not meet his eyes still. Before long he looks away again, his hand still rubbing at Yuuri’s pants.

“I’m a doctor, yes,” he says, “where are your parents?”

“My daddy is a doctor. Mommy says I can find him on the moon. Are you from the moon, too?”

It takes a conscious effort not to tense up at the words. Yuuri looks around them, trying to spot if any of the adults have heard the child’s words. Seeing no one giving them special attention, he turns back to Vincent. “Did you get here alone, Vincent? How did you do that?”

“Mommy said get in the car,” he answers, “she’ll go to the moon and daddy will come get me soon.”

 _Well,_ Yuuri thinks, _this changes things._ He looks over at the Princess, looks at Eddelrittuo – remembers her warning about a spy being among his own people, a spy that might want the Princess dead. He looks at Vincent again. _Can’t possibly be a child now, right?_ He also remembers the princess’s words, about a prince who was sent to Earth five years before Heaven’s Fall, and wonders if maybe Vincent’s heritage is as impossible as he thinks.

But… a Martian child, born and raised on Earth? Vincent could not be the only one, if his mother hadn’t been lying. And, if Vincent’s words are true, then either his mother is dead, or his father is an Orbital Knight – or someone working for them, at least. All options seem horrifying, and suddenly Yuuri doesn’t think it advisable to leave a small child—especially of his descent—alone in a refugee hold.

But Yuuri does not have much of a choice. For now, at least – this warship is a temporary transport vehicle, and no system has yet been figured out how it works. The staff they had at the beginning will have to be able to sustain them until they get the rendezvous point with the rest of the civilians, where – hopefully – a stable division has been established.

If there hasn’t, Yuuri will have to find a way to establish a nursery. They cannot have all the young children running about a busy warship unsupervised – and they cannot afford to allow parents and guardians off the hook from helping. Plan of action established, Yuuri wraps his hands around Vincent’s underarms and lifts him, leaving him to stand on his own for a moment.

“I’ll be back,” he murmurs to the child. He whistles, calling Makkachin and Vicchan over to him, snapping their leads back on to their collars. “We’ll be back, okay?” he tells the children. Makka and Vicchan need to eat and drink water, too.” _And so do you,_ he does not say, hoping against hope that the ship at least has supplies to feed them for the time being.

*

The kitchen is, thankfully, stocked. Inaho finds him and assists him in preparing food enough for at least fifty people, accepting help when one of the mothers followed them from the hold. She had gotten lost on her way to the comfort room and heard them clanking around, deciding it was more useful to do something she could be productive in.

There were fruits, vegetables, eggs, herbs – rice and flour and other grains, too. Obviously, even though they were ill prepared when they left this morning, the craft has been pre-prepared and stocked anyway. Yuuri makes a note to thank Captain Magbaredge and her XO.

In a way, preparing the meal with Inaho and a stranger – Kanade, she insists they call her – felt _normal,_ almost domestic, as if they were still in their apartment in Shinawara waiting for Yuki to come home to eat dinner with them. Vicchan and Makkachin keep clear of their workspace as they bake, prepare food, and cook rice, whining every now and then for some treats until Yuuri shushes them or gives in.

(Obviously, he gives in more than he doesn’t. Kanade tries to chastise him for it, but even _she_ is weak to Vicchan’s puppy eyes, and Inaho ends up being the one telling both adults in the kitchen not to spoil the pups.

He ignores Yuuri’s plaintive _Naooooo_ in response.)

Once everything is ready, Yuuri grabs two trolleys – loading one with all the food and loading the other with plates and utensils. Inaho starts pushing the utensil trolley and he takes care of the food, whistling for Makkachin and Vicchan to follow them out. He gives Kanade the task of distributing the food to the people when they get to the hold.

Morale in the ship seems to rise during the meal, including among the teenagers. He insists that Inaho join his friends in the hold, while he pulls the rest of the food and plates to the bridge to eat with the staff. At least no one’s just sitting on the floor and moping anymore – people seem livelier, talking to each other and interacting. Yuuri hopes that everyone will find a friend to talk about their burdens with.

“Doctor Yuuri.”

_Speaking of friend._

Yuuri looks behind him to find Vincent, hands clenched on the hems of his shirt. His eyes flit around the hallway, finally resting on Yuuri’s hand that’s resting on the trolley handle. “Hello, Vincent. Have you finished eating?”

Vincent shakes his head. “I did not get in line.”

“Why not?”

The child stays silent for a moment, before he finally says, “I can’t eat.”

Yuuri blinks. That’s… unexpected. “You can’t eat the food, you mean?”

Vincent shakes his head even harder. “I can’t… I can’t _eat,_ with – with – plates and s-spoons.”

Realization dawns on Yuuri and suddenly, something awful comes to him. “Vincent,” he says softly, coming forward to crouch in front of the child, “how old are you?”

“I-I’m four.”

Four. Four years old and unable to feed himself. “Okay, how about this,” Yuuri says, “How about we eat together, yes? Come on, grab on to my shirt and we’ll keep walking, alright?” He straightens up, smiling slightly when he feels a tug on the hem of his shirt, and starts walking.

He ignores the Looks he gets when he enters the bridge, instead just distributing the food to the people around, before taking a plate for himself, loading it with enough food for two people. If Vincent can’t finish his share, then more for Yuuri, anyway. It’s a win-win situation.

*

It’s late when they finally get to the rendezvous point – an embargo in the middle of the sea, for some reason. It’s late enough that most of the civilians have fallen asleep, the dishes washed and the dogs fed. Yuuri volunteers and starts waking everyone up, asking the strongest ones to help unload their baggage from their craft and into their official transportation, the rest helping cart around the children to the sleeping quarters where they can rest.

He stops acting officer when Marito calls for his attention – a raised hand, calling him over where he and the rest of the Wadatsumi’s unofficial adult staff were standing, apparently being reported to by someone in blue overalls.

Yuuri gets there in time to hear the man say “—a longer, safer route. The seas are a mess thanks to that meteor bombardment. On Executive Officer Mizusaki’s orders, we went ahead in Craft #1 with Appaloosa Platoon. We are here to support you and defend the civilians until the Wadatsumi arrives.”

“That is a big help,” Captain Magbaredge says. She barely glances at Yuuri before she continues with, “I am made to understand that we are expecting a KG-10 Platoon from the North as secondary support as well. Have you any news?”

The man hesitates for a moment before he sighs. “The Percheron Platoon arrived just after sunset, Captain. Shall I inform them of your arrival?”

“I’m sure they have found out,” she answers, almost flippantly – Yuuri feels somehow chastised, for some reason. She looks around them, at the cranes, the storage areas, the rusting floor – “still, this place was abandoned, wasn’t it? Even when there hasn’t been damage to this area yet.”

“A wise choice,” Marito answers. “Rooting only makes the damage worse. The best thing to do is bug off.”

“Exactly the opinion I’d expect from someone who lived through the war 15 years ago,” Magbaredge says, and then turns away. “Very well. We will wait for the Wadatsumi. Have anyone who is not busy assist in resupplying the landing craft.” This time, when she addresses him, she looks straight at Yuuri. “I believe you have a meeting with a Lieutenant General, Master Sergeant Katsuki.”

Yuuri feels his face heat up, nodding in acquiescence and simply watching as the Captain walks away.

“That was…” Yuki starts.

“Kinda rough, wasn’t it?” Doctor Yagarai agrees, before he shakes his head and moves away. “Well, seeing as I’m not busy, I might as well help them resupply. Are you coming, Yuki-chan?”

“Don’t call me that!” Yuki complains, but she follows after him, anyway.

“I’ll, uh,” Yuuri begins. “I’ll… go look for Lieutenant General Nikiforov now.”

*

Yuuri doesn’t even have to look long.

He finds Viktor in front of one of the many storage buildings around the perimeter, pacing a hole into the floor. His hair is disheveled and he’s biting his nails, but he’s still terrifically, unfairly, completely attractive. Yuuri couldn’t have been able to stop himself from calling out.

“Viktor,” he says, and he releases his hold on Vicchan’s and Makkachin’s leads. They both take off towards Viktor, who barely braces himself and catches both dogs against his chest, hugging their wiggling bodies against his chest.

And then he looks up, and all Yuuri can see is _blue_.

-

Viktor is barely satisfied with the relief he feels upon finally, _finally_ being able to cuddle with his babies again when he looks up and a stronger, darker longing overtakes him, because right _there_ , is the most devastatingly beautiful man he has ever seen—ever had the honor of seeing.

“ _Yuuri_ ,” he breathes, and a band around his chest that he has not realized was there, _squeezing_ him, finally releases its hold around his heart and his lungs, and finally, he feels as if he could breathe properly. He straightens and doesn’t hesitate to approach Yuuri, steps sure and movements precise until Viktor could feel heat against skin, until his senses are covered with the unmistakable scent that is _Yuuri_.

“Hi, Vitenka,” Yuuri whispers, and there’s no space between them.

( _Viten’ka,_ Viktor remembers, is a nickname only his mother has ever called him. She reminds him of home and, somehow, it’s fitting that Yuuri starts calling him by it, too.)

Viktor wraps his arms around Yuuri, glad for the difference in their size and height—not enough that he would _dwarf_ Yuuri, but just enough that when they’re like this, pressed chest to knees and arms around each other that, in their uniforms, an outsider would not know where one ends and the other begins, he could wrap himself around Yuuri.

He is glad for the difference in their bodies, too—several times has Yuuri pulled away from him, shame burning in his gut and embarrassment painting his beloved cheeks a deep red, because he does not see the _beauty_ that is his body. _Too fat,_ he would say, on the worst days, hands clenched by his sides and tears welling in his eyes. _Too chubby,_ he’d tell Viktor, when they’re snuggling and Viktor squeezes him tighter.

 _Too beautiful, completely wasted on me,_ Viktor would tell him back, kissing his cheeks and that beautiful nose and lips and neck and shoulders until Yuuri giggles and says, _yes, yes, I get it now, Viktor, please, it tickles._

“I love you, _lyubov_ ,” he murmurs to Yuuri’s ear, feeling the words settle from his throat to the pits of his belly. “I love you and I do not want to ever feel that way again.”

Yuuri’s breathing misses for a moment – as if he could not believe Viktor’s words – before it settles again. His face snuggles into Viktor’s chest, and if possible, he sidles even closer. Any more and they’d fuse into one – although Viktor wouldn’t mind, not really. He would open his sternum and allow Yuuri to curl inside, around his heart. He would stitch himself back together, with Yuuri inside of him, and he wouldn’t mind. He would die, protecting Yuuri in that way—although dying would be his last priority, since his death would mean his beloved Yuuri’s as well.

He is pulled from his thoughts by Yuuri making an inquisitive sound from the back of his throat.

“I love you, Viktor,” he whispers in the space between Viktor’s collar bones, his breath hot where his skin is exposed above his gear’s hem. “I feel safest, when I am here, in your arms.” And then he buries his face against the material of Viktor’s uniform once more.

Viktor could do nothing but press a soft kiss to Yuuri’s head then, closing his eyes and allowing himself—finally—the luxury of holding his lover. They have a few minutes – an hour, at most – before either of them would be requested for help. Viktor, at least, knows that he will be expected to patrol sometime in the next two hours – he had signed up for the last possible patrol in order to ensure that he would be available for Yuuri when they dock.

Maybe they would require Yuuri to help bring supplies from the island on to the ships they have, or maybe there are sick people in the infirmary in need of his love’s assistance – but he is selfish, and he is unwilling to relinquish Yuuri. For now, at least. He feels as if his heart had stopped at least nine times in the past day, and he feels exhausted – an exhaustion that only close proximity with Yuuri Katsuki could ever hope to relieve.

Viktor’s hands clench around the fabric of Yuuri’s jacket when the moves to pull away, but he slowly allows them to relax when Yuuri chuckles. “Viktor,” Yuuri says, and by the _moon_ if he had not missed the way his name passes those lips, “Vicchan is trying to climb my legs, Vitenka. I suggest we move this somewhere we could cuddle with them, too.”

At that, Viktor could not ever hope to stop the helpless little laugh that escapes him. He doesn’t think he can ever laugh again, without Yuuri by his side. Still, he pulls away from Yuuri – reluctantly – and whistles for Makka, who immediately runs to him, jumping to put his paws on his abdomen to attempt to lick at his face. “Alright, down, _schchenok,_ I know you haven’t bathed in a while.”

Makkachin boofs, as if asking him whose fault it is that he has not been cleaned.

“Yuuri’s _brat_ , I know,” Viktor answers with a grin, winking at Yuuri and barely catching him rolling his eyes – an adorable sight whenever it happens, although Viktor thinks it is only a reaction that comes about when it comes to Viktor himself.

(He hopes not, because his _mama_ always said that rolling your eyes at someone is incredibly rude, and when done so at your expense might mean a negative emotion, such as _annoyance._ It would simply not do to be an annoyance to his beloved Yuuri.)

He straightens and whistles for Makka to heel, gesturing for Yuuri to follow him. His Yuuri had picked up Vicchan and is cradling the pup against his chest. Viktor barely stops the coo that builds in his chest, knowing from experience that Yuuri does not appreciate being _cooed_ at – even when he deserves it with how adorable an image he presents at any time. Instead, Viktor smiles – not the million-dollar smile he had perfected as a preteen during one of his parents’ publicity events; not the professional smile of aloof cynicism his military track record has had him practicing; the warmest smile he has ever felt himself able to give, a smile that forms only at the presence of one man, the man in front of him right now.

(He remembers, very distinctly, the first time he notices the way the smile starts as a lump in his throat, blooms like heat that almost hurts his cheeks, settles like the hearth back in the old house in Russia when he was younger in his chest.

It had been a few months after meeting Yuuri, but it had been weeks since they had last seen each other. They take the time to communicate with their phones, of course, but messages on a small screen are nothing to being able to touch and feel the real thing between his fingers, against his palm, in his arms.

Viktor’s eyes are tired from staring at his tablet’s screen, reading over reports from different headquarters regarding logistics of their efforts to heal the land. Numbers, letters, graphs have all become muddled into a black and white mess that his brain is barely able to recognize, and, not for the first time, Viktor questions his acceptance of a desk job upon getting promoted.

Then again, if he had not accepted, he would have not been allowed to leave Russia. His father has always been too protective, too possessive over his only child; the only way Viktor could have convinced him to let him leave the country for military service was if Vitaly Nikiforov was sure his son would not be sent to the frontlines of a war.

Viktor had decided to leave work for the evening – to go back to his quarters, maybe jog with Makka for a while; either way, he would not work further than he has – when a knock on the door snaps his attention back to reality. Czarina – a sweet girl from the Old West, fortunate enough to be named Queen, but not to be assigned as secretary to someone who is decidedly _not_ Russian – peeked her head into the room and asked him if he was awaiting company. She had been Feodore’s assistant back then, making sure that Viktor’s life stay uncluttered and stress-free—as stress free as his occupation can get, at least.

Viktor was, honestly, more tempted to say _nyet_ than his training gave him incidence to say _yes_. He sighed, nodding at his secretary and gesturing for her to allow his _guest_ to enter, already thinking of the different ways he would skin them in his head when he heard his voice whispered in the sweetest, most genuine way he has ever heard… aside from his mother.

He looked up and he saw Yuuri. Viktor was confused at first – his first instinct was to check his phone if they had made plans, but he was _sure_ they hadn’t, so why was Yuuri here?

The answer to Viktor’s question came with the sound of crinkling paper.

Yuuri had brought him coffee and pastries, homemade and brought straight after dinner.

That was when Viktor first felt it – at first, he thought that the lump in his throat meant he was about to cry. The sensation, at least, was familiar enough to him, until he realized that the warmth was enveloping him in a completely unusual way from the way crying would have made him feel. And then he felt the muscles in his face stretch in a totally unfamiliar way: his cheeks were sore and his lips felt like they would break at any moment; his eyes were blurring with the way that his eyes were closing in –

 _Happiness_ , he finally realized, when the warmth began to settle from _scalding_ to _comfortable_ in the center of his chest, radiating from his torso to the rest of his body. He was _happy_ , that was a _smile_ on his face, _Yuuri_ made him feel this way.)

He reaches out towards Yuuri, his fingers outstretched and already itching to hold Yuuri’s in between. “Come, we have an hour for cuddles and making out.”

Yuuri barks out a laugh, but he takes Viktor’s proffered hand, anyway. His fingers curl just so perfectly around Viktor’s palm, fitting in between Viktor’s knuckles as if their hands were engineered to lock together in this way. Viktor _loves_ it. “You’re insufferable.”

-

He finds Phichit standing in the middle of the embargo, a crate in his arms, face tilted upward to watch the shattered moon shine—as it can, at least—down on them. Yuuri freezes, his heart in his throat—he hadn’t seen his best friend in over 24 hours, hadn’t gotten any kind of report or update from his whereabouts, but here he is, resplendent in moonlight, looking like he hadn’t just gone through hell.

Yuuri is wrong, of course; there’s a bruise on his jaw, and Yuuri’s own injuries seem to throb in sympathy. There’s a bandage peeking past the hem of Phichit’s sleeves, and despite the darkness, there are circles under his eyes. Still, Phichit is _beautiful_ where he stands. Beautiful, and useless as hell, though.

“PHICHIT!” Yuuri screams, before going for a running jump, straight at his completely _stupefied_ best friend.

*

“I might have broken a rib.”

“You did _not_ , asshole.”

“But Yuuri, I might have!”

*

Yuuri doesn’t waste time, narrating the past two days to Phichit in a rush as they walk their way towards the craft Phichit had reached the embargo on. They’re almost done unloading, having gotten here earlier than Yuuri’s did, but there were still some last-minute items that needed to be moved. After that they move on to Yuuri’s craft, helping unload and carry crates, boxes, and even a _table_ from the deck to the embargo, to be loaded into the Wadatsumi when it arrives.

Phichit regales him with his own experiences of the past two days – about going up North, but having to stop a few hours out of Akita because of the Land Castle’s impact; and then the mad rush back to Tokyo once they’ve met up with Viktor’s Kataphrakt and the civilian refugees – about finding Tokyo nothing but rubble.

“I mean, it took us twice as long to get to the port once we’ve left the city,” he says, breathing hard as they lift a crate between them. “The pilots were crazy paranoid that we were going to meet a Martian Kataphrakt every other corner.”

Yuuri snorts. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

*

Moving supplies is hard work – even more so when you’re exhausted and haven’t had the chance to rest much, Yuuri finds.

Viktor had long run towards the Kataphrakts to prepare for his patrol, while Yuuri and Phichit went towards the civilians to help with resupplying. Vicchan and Makkachin have been left with Marito in the makeshift command center – which is to say, one of the many storage buildings around their little island.

Yuuri is glad to see the kids are taking well to the job – he even hears Nina tease the other boy, Calm, about the sudden interest in volunteer work, after being one to shirk duties in school.

(“Okojo died,” Inaho whispers, “I was holding his hand, we were rushing out of that Kataphrakt’s way. He went out of the carriage to help Yuki out of the pilot well. I was holding his hand, and then my grip slipped.” His hands are curled in a fist so tight that his knuckles have turned white. Yuuri aches to comfort him, to reach out and touch him. “I _had_ to do something for him.”

 _I know,_ Yuuri thinks, helpless. _I know, it’s not your fault._ )

“I’ll do anything if it means wiping out the Martians,” Calm answers in a jovial tone, and Yuuri’s good mood sobers almost immediately. He looks down as he passes them by, his own box of supplies – water bottles – in his arms. These kids have just lost a friend, and they were the ones to take down the Martian Kataphrakt that did so. Of course they would be determined to help in any way that they can – Yuuri will not allow himself to begrudge them of that – but he feels saddened, that it had to be like _this_.

 _These kids are thinking of murder,_ he thinks, _genocide if you think about it. And their education had encouraged – if not planted it in their heads._

Yuuri shakes his head free of the thoughts as he enters the ship hold, slowly setting the box down on the metal floor and wiping his brow with the back of his hands. There is much more to do, much more things to worry about than morality of age at this point. Yuuri knows, rationally, that Viktor, Yuki, Marito, Phichit even – all of them – must be following a plan right now, a plan that ends in the same thing, but the thought of _them_ acting upon it does not rattle him as much as it does when he thinks of _Inaho_ doing the same thing.

 _Hypocrite,_ he tells himself. _You’re being such a damned hypocrite._

Yuuri decides to take the long way around the ship to the storehouse, just to try to avoid the kids this time, and ends up passing by Marito seated on a mooring by the edge of the docks, facing the sea. Yuuri wants to approach the man, maybe offer company – if that would comfort him _at all_ – but the general atmosphere around him screams of _do not approach_.

He’s about to enter the storehouse again when the ground begins to vibrate from under his feet – confusing him greatly until the sounds of massive gunfire reach his ears. At that his throat seizes up, and he feels unable to breathe for a moment before he remembers one of his exercises.

_I see the mooring. The storehouse. The lights. The waves. What’s left of the moon._

_I hear the waves. My breathing. The alarms. My heartbeat._

_I smell salt. Rust. Metal._

_I taste my own fear. Brine_

He reaches out and – _Inaho, I can touch Inaho._

Yuuri’s heart still thunders in his ears, but at least his mind does not race. He is grounded, now – he grasps Inaho’s hand tighter and then releases him. Yuuri looks towards the west and takes a deep breath. The people around him have stopped moving, their eyes towards where the sky lights up and the sounds come from. Yuuri feels dazed – have they been followed so quickly?

He's snapped from his thoughts by the embargo’s security alarms blaring overhead. “Everyone, please hurry inside,” Yuuri announces, proud when his voice comes on steadier than he feels. “Please stay calm and move in an orderly manner, but please hurry.”

Yuuri moves along with the civilians – encouraging them to take deep breaths and leading them towards their craft. He waits by the open hull and waves them, smiling in a bid to reassure both the civilians and himself that everything would be alright—because they’re not sure. Nothing is sure in these circumstances. All Yuuri could hope for was that they weren’t engaging one of those Martian Kataphrakts, like the one they did in Shinawara. He knows they must have other weapons, aside from those; all that matters is to find out what.

When the trickle of civilians finally comes to the last one entering and buckling down, he signals for the crew to close the hull. And then he sees another figure—Phichit, running from the port, probably choosing to join Yuuri in their craft instead of staying with his own.

The crew yells at him, but Yuuri just steps halfway out and reaches a hand out, grunting when he feels Phichit grab at his arm, pulling him up and pushes him farther into the hull.

“ _You’re freaking crazy!”_ he hells at Phichit, over the sound of gunfire and other voices yelling instructions from the ground. “ _What the hell, Phichit!”_

Phichit just grins.

The smell of burning concrete soon reaches them, cloying and settling around his head like a blanket. It makes him uneasy, knowing that Viktor is out there, fighting this unknown enemy; yet it reassures him at the same time, knowing Viktor’s capabilities and talents in piloting Kataphrakts. He had seen one of Viktor’s training videos, once, and he remembers thinking that it seemed as if Viktor and his Kataphrakt were the same being, as if they weren’t pilot and craft, moving instead together in a push-and-pull of input and output that had Yuuri mesmerized.

He's shaken out of his thoughts by another explosion, crouching in a defensive position so he doesn’t fall over. He looks around himself and notices that most of the civilians have boarded – only those who were in the farther buildings were running towards the ship. He jumps off the hull and helps some of them lift their luggage over and into the well, before giving them the boost they need to reach the edge.

Another explosion rocks the cargo island, and this time Yuuri isn’t prepared enough. He falls over, barely catching himself with his palms on time. He could have said goodbye to his nose. He shudders and struggles to get up, only to be knocked down by a wave of heat and energy. He rolls over to his back and stares up at the sky in horror.

“Yuuri!” Phichit yells from the hull, and he sees him peek over the railing at him. He gestures that he’s fine, but then—

The sky lights up, for one moment – a plasma ray shoots overhead, just barely missing the bridge, before it goes out. He scrambles to his hands and knees and looks around. Only uniformed personnel are left on the ground, and he runs over to the ones closest to him to help them drag over the crate they’ve been pushing closer to the ship.

“What’s inside?” he says, his voice drowned out by the transport craft’s engine starting. “ _Shit_.”

“ _Yuuri, hurry up!”_ he hears Phichit yell, and he wants to yell _I know_ back but he doesn’t really have enough breath to waste for yelling.

“Ammo!” one of the men yells back, waving his hand – probably to catch the attention of whoever’s on the bridge, but at this point, all he’s going to do is catch the enemy’s. Yuuri reaches over to pull his hand down. “What?!” he yells, indignant.

“You’re making yourself a bigger target by waving your arms around like some baboon,” Yuuri says. He should feel bad for the imagery, but at this point his mind is too busy mapping out a possible route from their small shelter behind a building towards the hull. Lugging it over the edge will have to be a problem for later. He looks around desperately as another, even _stronger,_ explosion rocks their building and this time he feels it ground tilting a little before settling.

The craft’s engines rev once more, and Yuuri knows they’re running out of time. They’ll have to risk it.

“Run!” he says, moving to the side of the crate where the older soldiers are and pushing with them, as hard as he can. Once they’re close enough to the hull he uses the crate to boost himself over, and then peers over the edge. “We’ll have to bring those up one by one,” he tells the soldiers, who look like they don’t like the idea – but who have come to the same conclusion as Yuuri.

“I’ll help,” Phichit says, rolling his sleeve halfway up his arms to clear up movement.

Yuuri looks over the railing to the men still on the ground. If they want their ammunition, they will have no choice.

The two on the ground scramble to get the crate open, and when they do another logistical problem presents itself. There is no safe storage readily available on the ship. The hull opens directly to the deck where they keep the civilians for safety, and the storage is too far for someone to be able to run back and forth without losing their breath within the first two transports.

Yuuri looks around wildly, but there’s nothing around where they can keep the ammo without the risk of them exploding while exposed to the elements. He grits his teeth and looks over. “We have no choice,” he yells over. “Get up, quickly!”

Neither of the soldiers seem sure, as if by thinking more about it they would be able to figure out a way to get the ammunition on to the ship without the help of the cranes. Yuuri sighs.

“We’ll have to trust that the other outposts have at least some ammunition left,” he yells. “Get up, come on! We have to go—”

The strongest explosion yet rocks the ship hard enough that it flings him from the edge of the hull and straight into the wall of the deck. The impact takes his breath and he falls to the floor, disoriented, dizzy. His ears are ringing. His glasses must have fallen off somewhere – his eyesight is blurry but he can see more people climbing over the edge.

Someone’s calling his name, but he doesn’t know if he responds. He tries to shake his head, to clear it, but it only makes the ringing worse. He feels himself being dragged – he hears something click, and then there’s silence. They must have moved him indoors – into the hull, of into one of the control rooms reached from the deck. Either way, the silence is helping the throbbing die down, only to get thrown to the side again. This time, he hits his head.

He groans.

“ _Yuu-chan!”_

Oh, that’s Yuki.

“ _Yuuri!”_

And there’s Phichit. He blinks several times, sitting up slowly as his vision stops doubling. “Doctor,” he murmurs when he recognizes who’s crouched in front of him.

“Welcome back,” the doctor teases, although despite the tone his body is too tense. _Protective,_ Yuuri realizes. He’s being protective. Yuuri sighs and closes his eyes.

“I lost my glasses,” he says. “I don’t think I’ll be helpful in the next few hours, either. My head hurts, and I might have bruised a rib.”

“Well, let’s hope that Martian Knight doesn’t do more damage to the ship than it already has, why don’t we?” the doctor says, straightening his back to look over his shoulder. Yuuri realizes that the white fuzz he’s seeing around the doctor’s head isn’t his eyes playing tricks against the light, but a headset he’s listening to.

“K-Knight? Another one?” he asks. And then he realizes the implication of the doctor’s words. “He’s here. He’s here, which means—”

“General Nikiforov is alive,” the doctor tells him, and Yuuri stops breathing for a moment. A second later the headset is being shoved against his ear. For the most part he hears static and general white noise, but over the din he hears voices – the Captain’s, from the bridge; further, as if transmitting via proxy – which it probably is – are the voices of the platoon still on the ground.

 _‘Appaloosa’s been wiped out,’_ Viktor’s voice says, strained and distant, crackling over their comms. _‘We’ll try to hold him off as much as we can. Get your engines repaired and lift off.’_

“ _Roger_ ,” Captain Magbaredge answers, and then there are a series of barked orders that he couldn’t discern. 

All he could understand was his brother’s name, and he chuckles because – of course, Inaho. He’s probably going to do something stupid, like confront that Knight, or help Viktor’s platoon. He’s that reckless.

He hears the Captain try to yell Inaho to stand down, but Yuuri grabs on to the mic attached to the headset and speaks into it. “My brother’s hardheaded, Captain,” he says. “I thought you’ve learned that by now.”

There’s silence over the radio for a while, until finally, there’s a sigh. Captain Magbaredge clicks her tongue, and, in what seems to be resignation – or acceptance, either way – she says, “Well, Nikiforov, I hope you’re ready for this responsibility.”

Viktor laughs. Even across two communication lines the sound is soothing, beautiful. Yuuri closes his eyes, smiling, and finally allows himself to drop off.

-

Inko has always done her best to be good, always exerted effort to be _good_. She’s a good daughter, polite to her parents and to the adults in her life. She was a good friend, always making sure that her friends are comfortable and warm; always making sure to give as much of herself to them as she can, to ensure that they live a life as good as she can help them live. She tries her best to be a good student – she reads and studies well before the topic is to be broached in class; she takes the simulations with a seriousness she’s been teased about; she tries to be the top student in her classes as much as she can.

(She remembers one of her aunts looking at her, seven years old, holding a flower. She does not yet understand that her Uncle had just died in a war, as senseless as war is to a child. She remembers the way Aunt seemed to age a month every minute that they spent in the cemetery, holding flowers and giving respect to an empty grave because they never were able to retrieve his body from the mess of concrete and metal that was his deathbed.

She remembers Aunt Ylah kneeling before her, taking the flower gently and resting it on her husband’s grave, before she rests her hands on Inko’s shoulders. _‘Sometimes,’_ Aunt Ylah whispers, ‘ _sometimes bad things happen to good people. But that doesn’t mean we stop being kind. That doesn’t mean we stop choosing to brighten this world.’_

She kisses Inko’s forehead, and then stands and walks away.

Inko never sees her again, but her words have stuck to her mind since.)

It makes her wonder, then, _where did I go wrong?_

She shakes her head at the thought. She’s been thinking that lately, especially over the past few days. Maybe it’s the ongoing war, maybe it’s the fact that she hasn’t heard from her parents yet; it usually comes around whenever she looks at Inaho. Her childhood friend, her first crush, the first boy she ever kissed. She thinks of the way he looks at the girl, Seylum. She thinks of the way he never looks back at _her_ when he decides to risk himself so Seylum doesn’t have to – whatever the hell she plans on doing to stop that damned Knight.

_(Where did I go wrong?_

She thinks of how she doesn’t feel anything but regret when she watches Inaho, as he looks at Seylum.

_Is that what it’s like to have his heart?)_

Bad things happen to good people, she remembers, and wonders what bad things have happened to Seylum. Inko hopes she’s never going to be one of them. Over the comms, they hear a problem – the engines have been damaged, and they need time to repair it, time that the Hofvarpnir’s platoon is hoping to buy them. She does not know much about the newest unit, just that there’s only one existing at the moment, and it’s been specially designed to fit the best pilot the UFE has ever seen: Lieutenant General Viktor Nikiforov, AKA the nerd that got scratched in the face when he thought it would be a good idea to cuddle a kitten to his cheek.

 _There’s always more to things than meets the eye,_ she tells herself, still in awe that, for the past few months, she has been lucky enough to be in close proximity to someone like _him_.

Inko wants to relax, to stay inside and let them handle this for once, but of course, being who she is – and being friends with the people she’s friends with – she does not have that luxury.

*

She wants to yell at them, tell them to come back, to let the adults handle this. They’re better trained than three students messing about in Kataphrakts. They’re smarter, more organized, more efficient; she doesn’t know the details, but she knows that the Arion platoon must have gotten wiped out if the only ones defending them are the KG-9 Morgenstern and that one, shining, brand new KG-10 Hofvarpnir. KG-7s are famous to have to most stable programming and cores – for them to get defeated within half an hour…

Inko watches as Inaho walks away, and yells indignantly at Calm when he immediately follows after. And then Inaho says, _I need you up there._

It’s unfair, how those words affect Inko so much; as if Inaho knows just how much those words could possibly affect her, as if he knows just what kind of effect he has on her. It’s just so _unfair_ , and if she finds out that he knows what he’s doing to her she _will_ punch him in the face, feelings or no feelings.

Still, her stomach drops when she realizes just how high she’d be climbing – how dangerous, _fatal_ , a fall from that height would be. The ground’s unstable, and the Martian Knight can see her. She’s the biggest potential loss in this fight, and something inside her tells her that that’s why Inaho chose her, that’s why Inaho chose those exact words to get her to move. Because if Inaho needs her, she’ll do it.

_See how dispensable you are?_

Something cold drips against her cheek. She’s probably crying, but she grits her teeth. She looks behind her, meeting Seylum’s eye for a moment before she pulls the door closed behind her.

And then she bolts.

*

Inko slips twice in three minutes, her ears ringing as the Kataphraks face off each other. Each swing from that Martian Knight’s weapon – a plasma beam sword thing, who _knows_ – sends ripples of heat across the embargo towards her. Each wave of heat hits her like a slap to the face, taking her breath and worsening the throbbing in her head.

She perseveres.

She’s almost too late to notice a shell coming straight for her, ducking away just in time as it lands with a heavy _thunk_ right where she’d been standing two seconds ago. Her heart is beating so fast, so hard, that she feels like her ribcage is about to rip open and that her organs are about to fall off. She’s just a few meters off from the ladder to the crane – she can probably get there faster if she jumps at the right second.

Another heat wave hits her, and she decides to throw caution to the wind.

She starts running straight for the ladder, ignoring the explosions of gunfire and the sound of falling shells. She reminds herself what this is for, and tries to push back the automatic thought that she’s doing this for Inaho. _Yes_ , that might primarily be the reason at the moment, but at the end of the day her decision to do this for Inaho came secondary to the decision to do this for the sake of buying the crew enough time to fix the engines so they could take off.

She’s halfway up the ladder when one of the Sleipnirs comes into close range contact with the Martian Kataphrakt. This time, she doesn’t need the comms to know who it is – there’s only one person who can possibly be as reckless as that. She climbs as fast as she can, ignoring her wildly beating heart, hoping she doesn’t miss any rings as she continues to watch the spectacle of –

 _Crap_ , that’s another Kat, _Viktor,_ ohmygod – and it’s –

They’re both somehow managed to immobilize the arm holding the plasma sword, and Inko is hit with the realization of what she has been tasked to do. She looks upwards. Four more rings and she’s in the seat.

She jumps in, looking wildly and – there – she doesn’t have time to figure the whole controls thing out, just hoping she’s chosen the right lever. She pulls the biggest lever in the control shaft as hard as she can, gritting her teeth as the crane spins wildly, bringing with it one of the cargo crates it has been holding. She pushes at one of the levers – suddenly grateful for her luck that it’s the right one as it extends the rope long enough that, at the lowest point of the swing, it hits the Martian Kataphrakt right where Inaho and the Hofvarpnir have been holding it.

She holds on to the levers as tightly as she can as she suddenly stops moving, inertia almost enough to throw her out of the door. And then she does it again, to the other side – only for the beam sword to go right through the box. “I guess not,” she murmurs, peeking over the windows to watch what’s about to happen next on the ground.

All six Kataphrakts are currently engaging the damaged Martian, the Morgensterns being more successful in their hits than the Sleipnirs, when suddenly there’s a cannon coming in from the east. Inko looks up to see a bigger vessel coming it – it must be the Wadatsumi, thank _god_.

And then she realizes just how dangerous her position is at the moment. She takes the radio hanging on its frame, trying all the channels available until she hears someone’s voice instead of white noise. “Calm!” she yells, when it crackles clear enough for her to recognize the voice on the other end.

“Inko?” Calm asks. “Great job on the fucking crane, man, that was awesome,” he says, and then he grunts. Inko watches as one of the Kataphrakts throws off his firearm for another.

“Calm I need you to disengage,” she tells him, “because I’m jumping out of the crane and I need someone to catch me.”

There’s silence over the line. Finally, “Inko,” Inaho says and Inko doesn’t let him try.

“No,” she says. “Calm, you have thirty seconds. That Kataphrakt is going down and I’m _not_ going down with it.”

“Inko – Inko – _what the hell,”_ she hears Calm say, and watches with satisfaction as one of the Sleipnirs disengage to rush towards her position. None of the other Kataphrakts seem to notice.

Her countdown reaches _two_ , and she jumps.

*

“Exactly as planned, huh?” Calm says, and Inko fights the urge to cuff him over the head.

“What _plan?_!” she demands. “That was really close back there!”

“ _I_ wasn’t the one who jumped out of the freaking crane!” Calm argues. “ _You_ did that, remember?! You didn’t even hesitate, you just jumped, what if I didn’t catch you, or worse, what if I _crushed you in my hands._ ”

Inko shrugs. “Good thing you didn’t,” she tells him. “Doesn’t change the fact that _we went in there guns blazing with no plan whatsoever._ ” _Not to mention you’d probably be dead if I didn’t figure out your plan,_ she directs at Inaho, but she says, “It’s not like you to be so reckless, Inaho.”

Inaho blinks at her, as if he’s just as clueless as she and Calm. And then he turns, just slightly, but enough to be noticed. “I suppose it isn’t,” he says. Inko doesn’t even have to look to know where – at whom – he’s looking. “Maybe you’re right,” he continues, and Inko finally looks away from him.

It’s a mistake – she meets Calm’s eyes, who looks just as pained as she does, only it’s worse. She flushes and shakes her head at him, begging him not to say anything. He’s known of her feelings for Inaho almost for as long as she has – he had tried several times in the past to have them talk about it, but it just isn’t happening.

(“This is probably the craziest idea you have ever had, Inaho, why did you ever think this was a good idea,” Inko babbles, standing in front of Inaho, wringing her hands. She’s so _nervous_.

Inaho shrugs. “It wasn’t my idea, it was Calm’s,” he says. “What’s wrong? Why are you so nervous?”

“ _Inaho_ ,” she grouches, “ _you’re about to kiss me._ I think I have the right to be nervous.”

Inaho doesn’t say anything, he just leans forward and presses their mouths together. Inko’s thoughts of murder—of Calm’s body suddenly appearing in Shinawara bay, maybe—disappears from her mind, along with any thought other than _Inaho is kissing me._ )

This time, the conversation—of any kind—will _not_ be happening, anytime soon, if she has any say in it.

She pats him on the shoulder instead. “Good job out there,” she whispers. Any louder and her voice might crack. “I—I’m going to go see Nina.” She leaves. She sends what she thinks is a smile at Seylum as she passes, hoping she somehow succeeds. She’d be regretting it forever if she’d ended up sending a grimace.

She doesn’t look around herself and keeps on walking, somehow finding herself in the bridge. It’s empty except for Nina, who’s sitting on her chair, comfortable in her role as helmsman. Inko smiles, proud. Nina has finally grown out of her shyness, growing into her role as one of the best navigators in their class.

“Nina,” Inko says, just as she wraps her arms around Nina’s shoulders. “What are you up to?”

“Inko!” Nina says, her face brightening. “O-Oh, nothing. I’m just… you were so brave,” she says, twisting in her seat to look up at Inko, her hands coming up to hold on to Inko’s arms. “I… I watched you, while you were running. I saw you almost fall, and you were so brave out there, while I just sat here.” She looks down. Her tone softens, too, almost to the point where her voice is a mere whisper. “I know you’re about to tell me you’re proud of me,” she murmurs, “but just you wait.” She straightens up, meeting Inko’s eyes head-on. “I’ll make you proud just yet.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!!! i love Inko so much! i feel like her character was not properly explored or fleshed out during the whole Aldnoah.Zero series, and i want to be able to give her justice. 
> 
> she'll get her happy ending i swear
> 
> (i just really, really love my girls, and i need more girls in this series)
> 
> -
> 
> also, after 1782931892 years, we are finally reaching the point where the series diverges from the A/Z plotline. a lot of the events from the series (especially season 02) WILL still be happening, but from here on out it's there's going to be a switch of style. world-building is finally, officially done! time to get the plot rolling 
> 
> love me~


	6. Episode 5: Phantom of the Emperor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am b a c k with a new chapter! so **first things first,** username change! i have decided to finally do what i've been planning to for a year and changed my original username (grey_sunset) to my most frequently used internet username: ehre-wahrheit!
> 
> NOW THEN. i joined nanowrimo this year, and although i'm planning on writing an original work, it's getting harder and harder than i imagined orz and i'm only 10k words in!!! so i might just work on this instead. i'll see how tcos works out for now.
> 
> anyway, without further ado, here's chapter 5!
> 
> small warning for: mentions of animal injury (i'm s o r r y)

 

 

* * *

 

_VERS EMPIRE, five years ago._

*

He does not quite understand what’s happening. There’s so much sensory input that his brain could barely register any new sensations – there’s the loud beating that came from the shuttle’s life support system; there’s the smell of burning metal and rubber—probably from the wires shorting out as they hurtle their way where the hell they’re going; there’s the taste of blood in his mouth—he might have bitten his tongue during one of those tumbles their shuttle had taken… even his eyes are being bombarded by lights—from the systems, screaming at him that they’re failing; from the way the shuttle hurtles over itself, making him dizzy, he’s going to be _sick_.

Finally, they make impact – they hit something, probably something huge; he hears the loud cracking of their shuttle hitting a crack, cracking through it, and a splash.

They’ve entered a body of water.

They’ve entered a body of water, and Slaine cannot reach the emergency panel. His limbs don’t work—he watches in horrified resignation as the shuttle’s malfunctioning system registers _danger_ and starts flooding the space with fluid. Optimistically, the freeze fluid will preserve his and his father’s life; realistically, the freeze component will dissolve in water and end up suffocating the both them, since they’ve entered a body of water, and the shuttle is damaged enough that he just _knows_ water is slipping into through cracks and crevices.

Before this whole thing, Slaine remembers seeing Mars, close enough that he registers its surface—and then there was just chaos.

He tries to move enough to reach for his father, but his body is too battered—from the months-long journey through space in a cramped shuttle, and then the beating they have just gone through as they hurtled through Mars’s atmosphere—to be able to properly move. All he manages to do is twitch.

 _Nika, we made it,_ he thinks, remembering an older sibling – long blond hair, falling against his face as a kiss is pressed to his forehead, ‘ _One more time now, Slaine—it might take us a few years before you see beloved Nika again.’_ He can feel fluid climbing from his legs, to his waist, to his chest. There’s nothing soothing or freezing about the fluid that reaches his neck, where it touches the skin not protected by his space gear. He’s right, it’s just water at this point – it’s going to suffocate him and kill him and his father before they even explore _anything_ on this forsaken planet.

“Slaine,” he hears his father groan, “Slaine, son, are you alright?”

In his head, Slaine is looking at Nika Troyard, both of them smiling at each other – complements of each other as they are—one tall and almost willowy, the other short and pudgy with baby fat; one with golden hair flowing long and free in the breeze, the other with hair so pale it’s closer to white. _We’ve made it to Mars, Nika!_ he says, excited, bubbling over with happiness. _Nika, see? I knew if we believed in father, we would make it to Mars!_

The water has now reached way past Slaine’s head, and he can’t breathe. He closes his eyes and awaits that moment when his mind goes blank and his body panics with the lack of oxygen. He’s too young to die, at 13; he at least wants to see Nika again before he goes, but he doesn’t really have a choice. There was always a chance, during this trip, that they’d die in space, and he never thought about being _too young_ in those moments.

And then, just as he’s about to lose consciousness, the shuttle door opens, releasing much of fluid back into the body of water it came from. Slaine finds himself able to move – and the struggles as he hangs from his straps, first against his helmet, and then, once he has taken it off, with the fluid that has flooded his mouth.

A strange sound catches his attention. Footsteps, against water; light, but unmistakable. He struggles to look up when something enters his field of vision. At first he cannot understand what he’s seeing – it’s a specter of Nika, standing in front of him – Nika, at his age, that is, thirteen and wearing a thin white dress, blond hair wet and eyes curious as it peeks at him, slowly coming closer—

And then there’s nothing.

-

_UNITED FORCES OF EARTH, WADATSUMI AMPHIBIOUS TRANSPORT, present time._

Some days, he forgets.

He forgets where he is, what he’s doing, when it is, _who_ he is. He forgets how the world feels underneath his fingertips – the scratchy friction of bedsheets, the faint scent of menthol, the softness of skin against his own. He forgets what it feels like to be alive, to have breath in your lungs and soft kisses against your lips. Some days, he forgets, and this is one of the mornings he wishes they did.

After he and Kaizuka the elder finally getting the engine to work—somehow, all thanks to that goddamned exoskeleton Souma outfitted her with, the ship was chaos – the Wadatsumi has finally arrived at the rendezvous point, _students_ helped push back a Martian Knight, fucking Amifumi climbed a control tower to drive a crane.

(It wouldn’t have been fair to say he wasn’t expecting that. Amifumi had always been a tag along to Kaizuka—or was that the other way around? They’ve been together since they were kids; it’s just that one had better self-discipline and the other had authority issues.

When the UFE finally listened to the masses and declared Germany _inhabitable for civilian population_ , and Calm Craftman arrived in Japan, their little two-man show grow to become Koichiro’s nightmare as a high school instructor. Even then, though, Amifumi had been a well-behaved student—at least compared to amigo _uno_ and amigo _dos_. If he was going to be honest with himself, he always did think she was better off with Nina Klein—although the kid was airheaded and just as much of an anxiety-ridden mess as the next one, she was better behaved and a breath of fresh air.

Kaizuka the elder once told him that girls were magic, and maybe understanding them—especially girls _three times younger than him_ —is just as hard as understanding it, because Amifumi never left Kaizuka the younger’s side, never complained, and yet never made any decisions that put herself—or her friends—in trouble.

 _Until tonight._ )

It had been a rush to move everything they boarded into the transport ship to the Wadatsumi, forcing sleep-deprived, hungry, probably still in shock civilians – _children,_ even – to work if they wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. He did his best to exert what effort he could to be able to help with as much of the heavy lifting as possible, carting food rations, clothing, crates of gunpowder and ammunition. It had taken them almost until dawn to be able to get everything done, and by then there have been new orders for everyone to reorient themselves to their new roles.

Klein, Matsuribi, and Tsumugi—having been in the bridge the past two days, therefore their best possible bets at roles regarding work in the bridge—were called into the Wadatsumi’s control room for supplementary instruction on piloting an actual warship. The others – the _tres_ amigos – were called into the Captain’s cabin, though he couldn’t be sure if it’s to get told off or commended. Either way, they’re going to have to deal with Lieutenant Kaizuka at the end of the day, so he wouldn’t worry about it too much.

And then there were the uniformed personnel.

Lieutenant General Nikiforov – _Viktor_ , he reminds himself, _he’s asked you to call him_ _Viktor_ – had rushed on to the dock with his unit, outshining all their remaining ones immediately. The KG-10 Hofvarpnir, the first of its kind, which only finished the prototype stage seven weeks ago, now standing tall and with barely a scratch from a battle with a Martian Knight. As if being a KG-9 platoon wasn’t enough.

The day had been bright, and it was one of his better ones, when they announced the completion of the latest, dubbed the _best_ , Kataphrakt Ground unit. It was the same story as years prior when they announced the ‘success’ that was the KG-8; using a new core that was apparently more powerful, more efficient, more compatible with their combat needs than the KG-6’s battery and the KG-7’s solar-converter generator.

One month after its first trial run, it went berserk. The only way to stop it had been to induce a meltdown in the facility where it was being kept and developed, destroying whatever core they put in the thing – and everyone and everything related to its creation.

He wants to _hope_ that this is, indeed, a success, a real one, not the farce that was the KG-8, but… he knows the United Earth government. He knows how they would risk the lives of half the planet just to keep their reputation as an all-knowing righteous establishment that serves not to control, but to protect. He knows just how dangerous trusting the government and its leaders, without experience of war or loss, really is. He _knows_.

Now they have a potentially dangerous unit sleeping in their docks, and they’re in the middle of the fucking ocean, god _damn_.

He looks to the figure on the bed beside him, curled up in rest. They’ve barely been able to close their eyes for this little catnap – a guilty pleasure from when they were younger, now a source of comfort for the both of them as much as a respite from sheer exhaustion. He runs his hand through brown curls before turning, resting his feet on the floor. The metal chills his skin immediately, serving to ground him just a little better to the present. He had, thankfully, slept without nightmares – although he shouldn’t have expected less, given present company. He presses a light kiss on sharp cheekbones before rising, pulling on his shoes and deciding to get to know this new ship better.

*

They’re probably heading to the main headquarters in Russia – at sea, that would take them about a week, although that’s to say they wouldn’t be accosted by… ahem, certain _distractions_ ; and then they’d have to travel over land farther north. Optimistically, if they were lucky, they’d get to Russia within twenty days.

Realistically, it might take them as much as a month. He has not had the chance to make an updated inventory of their population and rations, but—if his exhausted mind was accurate—he estimates that that time frame might be stretching them a bit too thin.

They don’t have enough manpower, for one thing; although some of Craft #1’s crew had survived the Kataphrakt’s attack on the ship, most of them were injured and have been put on bed rest for the time being. Most of the adults they have on-board have had no military training whatsoever, and the younger ones—teenagers, the lot of them—should not have to work unless they really, really need to.

Most of the civilians seem to have acclimated to their new lives on the ship, though—some have volunteered for kitchen duty, while others have volunteered to help with Kataphrakt maintenance. Luckily for the lot of them, there was one or two with an engineering degree from before Heaven’s Fall even happened. They need all the help they can get. With a paltry uniformed crew of 21 serving a warship with over 200 passengers, it would be a miracle if any of them got any sleep in the next few weeks.

As he walks by the cafeteria – the only part of the ship large enough to be able to hold more than 10 people at a time – he sees Nikiforov and Katsuki, their dogs curled around them and – to his fucking _surprise_ – a small child on their laps. A war orphan, perhaps; Katsuki sure moves fast. There are a number of people simply sitting around the room, against whatever surface they can lean against—walls and posts; tables, chairs even—staring blankly ahead of them, their faces slack and eyes seemingly dead to the world.

Something inside of him aches. _I looked like that, fifteen years ago._ He doesn’t know for _sure_ if that’s exactly how he looked like, but he has had his fair share of dealing with traumatized soldiers and civilians; he knows how shock looks on people, how it whittles down on people until they’re skin and bones, living skeletons filled with memories and nightmares and the incapability to move on.

He shudders at the memory, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets to hide the way they tremble. He moves faster across the room and finally breathes easy when he gets to the door that leads to the kitchen area. He doesn’t dwell there long; from his experience, the kitchen is usually the most stressful area in any place with refugees, aside from the frontlines. He cuts across the kitchen and gets to the broiler room, where a door exits to a flight of stairs that leads to the ship’s underbelly.

He shrugs and follows it down, appreciating the fact that the lights here are not harsh fluorescent. The silence soothes his nerves the same way it riles him up – by reminding him that he’s alone. Here, he could die alone. Here, he _would_ die alone. The only sounds around him are the humming of the engines, his own footsteps, and the metallic _thunk_ of movement around him. He moves through the hallway quickly, peering into doors and surprised to find submarine pods _and_ prison cells.

Seems like the Wadatsumi is a star ship. Good thing they’re planning on returning it to the UFE.

He sighs in relief when he finally reaches the end of the narrow hallway – did he just walk the _entire_ length of the ship? – and finds that it opens to a room with stairs that go up. He goes up, and ends up in the residence wing. _Huh_. He checks his watch and is surprised it’s been over two hours since he left bed. Either he walks slower than he thought, or that hallway downstairs was longer than it seemed.

He walks down the residence wing and takes a left on the corner where he took a right earlier. Right leads him to the deck; left will probably lead him to the sickbay and the Captain’s quarters. Might as well.

He’s just about to go through a door when he hears to voices talking – something about medals, honor, being given medals of honor. He smiles, but it’s not amused. It’s his kids, talking about being given medals of honor, probably for their feat yesterday. So they haven’t been told off – they’ve probably been given the idea that they should enlist.

It makes him sick to his stomach that something like this – his biggest nightmare when he’d started teaching – would really be happening.

“I’ve never seen anyone with a medal,” Amifumi says, and Koichiro decides he’s had enough of listening to this talk. He steps out from where he leaned against the doorjamb and took a deep breath. _Sorry, kid, say goodbye to your dreams._

“That’s only because nobody’s seen any real fighting for so long,” he says, leaning against the doorjamb again – on sight, this time. All casual. It’s only Amifumi and Kaizuka walking together – he wonders where their Number 3 is, why he isn’t with the two of them.

“Instructor Marito,” Amifumi says, and though her expression is neutral, her tone betrays her surprise – at seeing him? At having her zeal overheard by someone – by him? Both, probably.

“’Instructor’?” he repeats, smiling a bit to show he’s only just teasing. “Does this look like a school to you?” He gestures around them. They’re in a narrow hallway in the middle of a warship on its way to face a war. A _school_ is the least likely name he’d call their present location.

“Oh,” Amifumi breathes out. She bows her head, properly chastised, muttering, “My apologies, Lieutenant Marito.”

He almost twitches at being called by his own rank, but he forces the visceral reaction down and decides to turn the conversation back the topic at hand. His hands seek out the tag he has had for the past fifteen years, fingers curling around the familiar shape, fingertips tracing his best friend’s name engraved on metal. “Medals are gonna be a whole lot more common soon,” he says, almost absently, smiling and saluting back when Kaizuka gives him one – although slower; not hesitant, per se, but more mechanical than a trained soldier’s. Koichiro ignores it. “We’re in a war,” he reminds them, as if they need reminding. _These two_ , he thinks. “Honor is probably the only reward they can hand out.”

 _And that makes being ignored that much more a bitter pill to swallow._ He doesn’t say that out loud, although he wants to. His job might be to show these kids the reality of the world, but shattering their faith in the one institution supposedly created to protect them is not the best way to go about it. Even _he_ can agree that much.

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Well,” he adds, almost like an afterthought, “dying for honor isn’t such a bad thing.” _I won’t let them do to any of you what they did to me._ “It’s harder to survive only to live in misery.”

He’s about to say more, but a door creaks open behind him and a voice that annoys – and soothes, _always soothing_ – him calls out his name. “Lieutenant Marito,” Doctor Souma Yagarai says, his tone no-nonsense and obviously in on the whole conversation from the very beginning. “Do you have a moment?” he asks.

 _Heh_ , Marito thinks, studying the man before him closely but quickly. He has a new coat on – it’s not the one he’d peeled off of him last night, and he’s wearing one of Koichiro’s shirts. He probably didn’t even notice, the nerd. He shrugs at Souma, and then gives Amifumi and Kaizuka a two-fingered salute before following the doctor into a room he had probably sequestered to himself. It’s close enough to the medical bay down the corner that he could rush in there if needed, but far away enough that he has his privacy and silence away from the general din of people in pain.

It’s a small, simple room – obviously a clinic, with a bed pushed against one wall while another wall was fitted with shelves, filled with medical supplies. Beside the shelves is a small metal table where Souma already has all his papers out – oh, so he’s in Doctor Yagarai mode.

“Hanging out in your cave on a military boat, Doc?” he asks, partly curious but partly anticipating the moment he can get out. That won’t be for a while, though – he’s not sure what he’s about to be scolded for this time.

“Those who do not work do not eat,” Doctor Yagarai says simply, closing the folder he had laid out on the table and turning to look at him. “I can’t say I appreciate you shattering those kids’ illusions, Lieutenant.”

 _Oh, okay._ He’s about to say something, but Yagarai leans forward. He tilts his chin up immediately – knowing this familiar gesture, the procedure; at the same time, trusting the man in front of him completely, with all of himself.

 _Not really_ , a voice in his head whispers, but he forces it to shut up.

Doctor Yagarai pulls back from sniffing him and reaches into his breast pocket, swishing the canteen he always has on hand before putting it back where it belongs. “You aren’t hitting the bottle, I see.” He turns away, and Koichiro rolls his eyes.

“I am _so_ touched that you trust me, Doctor,” he says flatly, watching as Doctor Yagarai opens a thick binder – his own, he knows – and starts writing.

“I thought you might have been picking on the kids because you were drunk.”

“I might be,” he says, “under the influence. Of my lot in life.”

There’s a moment of silence. Koichiro had looked away. He feels eyes on him, though, heavy and expectant. “You mean the Tanegashima report.”

“Sins you’ve committed cling to your soul and haunt you forever,” he murmurs, “and sins that go unpunished aren’t forgiven until you die.”

He closes his eyes for a second, his hand clinging on to that tag, before he brings it out. Memories of that day fifteen years ago surface in his mind – of being inside a burning tank, in the middle of a decimated battle field; holding on to his dying best friend and trying his best to pull him out…

Getting out of that tank only to stare at the monstrosity that is the real power of the Versian army.

It’s so clear, so vivid, that he could almost feel the heat of the fire surrounding him – he can feel it lick against the skin of his arm; the rattling of Humeray’s ribs against his own as he struggles to breathe through the heavy smoke, the steady drip of blood against his hand because Humeray’s – _John, that’s your best friend, oh god, he’s dying_ – head is bleeding and he has to get out as soon as possible.

He’s pulled out of the flashback by the sound of rattling chair, and looks beside him just in time to see Souma – Souma the boyfriend, not Souma the doctor – reaching out to almost touch him. Koichiro doesn’t let him pull back, though, grabbing his hand with the one that isn’t clinging on to John’s tag, pulling him closer so they’re sharing the same breath.

“Thank you, please never leave me,” he requests, and smiles at the warmth of the laughter that bubbles from the man beside him.

“Of course. I promise, Kyou,” Souma says, twining their hands together. He stays silent for a moment, before he squeezes Kouichirou’s hand and says, “Humeray. You haven’t talked about him in a while.”

Koichiro grins, and then presses his lips against Souma’s temple, breathing in the scent of him. “Patient confidentiality and all that,” he murmurs. When he pulls back, Souma is looking at him – guileless, without pity, without judgment. It almost slips out of him then, those three little words, so instead he just smirks and says, “I have a tour of this boat to finish.” He pulls his hand out of Souma’s, kissing his palm before he stands and walks to the door.

He doesn’t have to look to see and know that Souma had stood with him, is standing behind him in a literal representation of his role as his support in life. _I love you_ , he almost says, right then, but he catches the words in time. He opens the door.

“Your hands are clean,” Souma says from behind him. “Contrary to what you seem to believe, you saved his life.”

He looks back at Souma for a moment, before laughing mirthlessly and looking away. “Is that really what I did?”

-

Viktor is just about ready to ignore the rest of the world, content to be where he is and just… be. The past few hours have been hell on him – piloting the Hofvarpnir is taking out more of him than expected, so much that he almost thinks it’s unhealthy—the Morgenstern might have been a little slower, but at least it never left him as physically and _mentally drained._ And then there was the fact that he had found Yuuri, bruised and unconscious, _again_.

He wraps his arms around Yuuri’s waist, pulling him closer. He would pull him even closer if it were physically possible, but as it is they have a sleeping child between – a sleeping child so attached to Yuuri, so _cute_ – them and their babies curled up around each other on his hip. He places a hand on the ball of fur, and even he is unsure whether he’s touching Makka or Vicchan – they’ve come to look so much like each other.

Yuuri rests his head against his shoulder, and Viktor presses a kiss against his hair. His other hand, the one around Yuuri, reaches far enough that he can run his fingertips through Vincent’s hair. The boy coos and snuggles even closer to where he’s pressed up against Yuuri’s stomach. One of Viktor’s legs is numb, and his ass hurts from sitting on the cold metal ground of the ship, but he doesn’t care – as long as he can hold his Yuuri like this, keep him safe in his arms like this, he would live through actual hell, drag his body through it.

Yuuri is worse off – his ribs have been bandaged and he has been explicitly instructed not to join in on any rigorous activity in the next two weeks to allow his bruised ribs to heal. His past injuries, from having gotten _blasted by a fucking missile_ , have barely even healed, and the good doctor has it on good authority to almost have to order Yuuri to bedrest.

Yuuri had refused to take any of the painkillers he’d been prescribed—at least until they’ve gotten an inventory of their supply of medication.

(“Someone might need it more than I do,” Yuuri says, carrying in his hands one of the few blankets they have in the camp. “I have an extra jacket I can just use to warm myself up.”

“It’s the end of the god damned year, Yuuri,” Phichit Chulanont says, curled up in front of the fire with his own blanket thrown over his shoulder, “which means it’s the coldest time, too. This is a training camp, no one gets special treatment, and you shouldn’t have to be the one to start.”

Yuuri pouts, and Viktor sighs. God, this infuriating, self-sacrificing, beautiful mess of a man. “ _Lyubov_ , Phichit is right,” he says gently, taking the blankets from Yuuri’s hands and then slowly guiding him to sit on the ground in front of him. “I don’t want you getting frostbite, and living with the cold with only what you have on-hand is part of endurance training. No one out there will give you a blanket when you’re too cold to fall asleep, if you’re out on a mission or if an operation goes wrong.”

Yuuri pouts even harder, if at all possible; at least he doesn’t protest when Viktor spreads the blanket and tucks it up to his neck, sidling up to cuddle Yuuri from behind. They will have to be warm enough.)

At this point they just have to hope that no attack comes in their journey to Russia – at least there, they can somehow outfit him with a exoskeleton so he’ll be useful. He had eyed Yuki’s arm throughout the Doctor’s instructions, and he had sighed, resigned, when he realizes what Yuuri had been trying to imply.

Thankfully, he does not have a concussion, despite hitting his head – rather harshly, according to Doctor Yagarai – against the ship’s wall when it had rocked hard enough from the other ship exploding. He does have a bad case of whiplash, though, and his neck is sore from where he’d been thrown – twice – through the air.

They’ve been fed breakfast by civilian volunteers – mothers, mostly – who sequestered the kitchen immediately after getting the Wadatsumi ready for take-off. They’ve been in there for hours, and Viktor is pretty sure none of them have gotten any sleep. He looks around at what little of the uniformed crew he can recognize, and realizes that none of them have gotten a wink of sleep – there were always gauges to be watched, civilians to be assisted, tasks at hand to be taken care of.

Viktor himself has not gotten any rest, until he had found Yuuri curled up against the floor with Vincent in his lap. He had assisted the crew in Kataphrakt maintenance until he was so tired he could barely lift his arms to get his tools on board the maintenance elevator, at which point one of the crew members forcibly pushed him out of the Kataphrakt bay. With nothing else to do – having done his check and maintenance of the Hofvarpnir earlier – he had proceeded to the cafeteria, hoping to peruse it for a place to rest.

What he had seen was short of tragic – and that was before he had seen his Yuuri.

People were curled against chairs, walls, posts, wherever they can, blankets wrapped around their shoulders and eyes blank as they stare out towards nothing. _Shock_ , Viktor recognizes; all of them are in shock. Most of those who are simply resting in room are the elderly – tears running down their cheeks, probably thinking of their families. The others were the younger ones – probably around Inaho’s age, or younger; those who have not yet reached the grade where they start military training, those who probably had zero expectations for what they have faced, for what they’re continuing to face.

He aches to be able to help, he aches for his home, he simply _aches_ ; instead, he looks around and flags down one of the younger crew members. She salutes him before she asks what he needs. “I need a box of water bottles brought down here. Distribute it as much as you can to everyone in the room – they’re going to want to keep themselves rehydrated.”

The girl salutes again and runs off – whispering something to her teammates before she leaves the room, probably in search of the boxes. Satisfied for now, Viktor continues to look around, until his eyes catch on a familiar mop of brown curls. His breath leaves him as he rushes towards Makkachin, who is curled around Vicchan – he puts his babies’ heads, and his eyes widen at the sight of one of Vicchan’s legs wrapped in a pink cast.

He kneels in front of the dog, cooing when the pup whines at him, running his fingers soothingly on the fur on his belly. “What happened to you, baby boy?” he whispers. He looks to the side and sees a sight that has a coo building in his throat: Yuuri, eyes closed in rest, lips hanging open, arms wrapped protectively around a small child, also asleep against his chest.

Viktor reaches out to brush Yuuri’s hair where it’s fallen against his forehead, and his eyes flicker open. They’re disoriented for a moment, but immediately rest on Viktor. Even without his glasses, he recognizes Viktor – his smile is short of angelic as Viktor leans forward to kiss his forehead. He sits against the wall, bringing Yuuri against him.

“What happened to Vicchan?” he murmurs, knowing for a fact that Yuuri’s distressed as it is.

“A – a box fell on him, when the ship rocked last night.” He looks down, towards the child cradled against him. “Vincent wouldn’t let him go until I pried the poor pup from him to get him to the med bay.” He laughs a little. “He has a hairline fracture, but he’s bruised so the doctor wants to keep his leg immobile for now.”

He smiles and presses another kiss against Yuuri’s forehead, relieved that it wasn’t as bad as he had thought. And then he looked down, brushing his hand against the toddler’s cheek. His face scrunches up and he pulls away from Viktor’s touch – burying his face against Yuuri’s jacket instead. “And this little one is Vincent?”

Viktor watches in awe as Yuuri’s blush spreads from his nose, to his cheeks, up to his ears. He nods shyly. “I met him in the transport ship that got me out of Japan,” he says softly. “I don’t think his parents made it out.” He takes a deep breath, and then, in a rush, says, “he doesn’t know how to take care of himself, Viktor. Zero self-help skills – he doesn’t know when he’s hungry, or how to tell people he needs to go potty. Viktor, he doesn’t know how to feed _himself_.”

Confused, Viktor says, “But aren’t most children that way?” Admittedly he has almost zero knowledge about children, raising them, or their development, but he’s _sure_ children are supposed to be helpless little monsters who need adults for _everything_ , at least until they’re thirteen or something. Viktor would never know; he had never had to deal with children younger than twelve.

Until now, that is.

Yuuri blinks at him, apparently stupefied, or probably awed by his stupidity as most people are wont to be, and he bursts out laughing. He reigns himself in when they garner looks – ah, the boxes of bottled water have finally arrived; he sees the girl and her teammates start to distribute them to the civilians sitting around the cafeteria.

“Children _are_ dependent, mostly,” Yuuri tells him, his hand brushing Vincent’s hair. Viktor is surprised when the boy doesn’t turn away from Yuuri’s touch. “But they’re also developing humans. At his age he _should_ be able to voice his needs properly, or… or at least feed himself, if anything. He doesn’t know how to do that – he can talk, normal verbalization, but he seems like he was never raised to be properly independent.”

Yuuri’s words hit something in Viktor that makes him uneasy, but he attempts to tamp it down. It’s probably just the stress – and fatigue, and Yuuri’s own concern for the child bleeding into him. “Maybe he has overly attached parents,” he says. “Or – maybe he was raised to be the young prince or something, always meant to have someone looking after him.”

“No,” Yuuri says, hesitant. He looks around them for a moment before he leans closer, lowering his voice even more to avoid being heard by anyone. “He said his mom told him his father is on the moon, that he’ll come get him soon.” He licks his lips. “I don’t know if he just misunderstood or if she was joking, but I don’t think anyone would just tell their child their parent is in the moon when—well, with the history we have with the moon.”

Viktor realizes now why Yuuri is so cautious of what he had just said, and he looks around them furtively as well. “So… you think this child might be Martian? Or at least partly Martian?”

Yuuri shrugs, helpless. “I don’t know,” he admits. Something passes in his face, but it’s gone too fast for Viktor to be able to tell what it was. “It could be possible.” He runs his hand through Vincent’s hair. “But – we can’t leave him alone, Viktor.” He hesitates, and then continues with, “ _I_ can’t leave him alone.”

It hits him, then, that Yuuri – beautiful, selfless, lovely Yuuri – does not expect Viktor to want to stand by him through this. He looks at the child in Yuuri’s arms again. Yes, the thought of children has crossed his mind once or twice before; the thought of a family with _Yuuri_ has played itself out in his mind before, but – not now, not _yet_ , and especially not when they’re in the middle of a war –

But _when_ , then? Each time he gets into his Kataphrakt, he doesn’t know if he’ll get out… alive, at least. Each time he kisses Yuuri goodbye, he fears it may be the last time he ever does. Their present circumstance – it may not be perfect, but Viktor and Yuuri have always pushed through, so what’s the point in wanting perfection now?

He wraps his arms around Yuuri, pulling him against his chest and kissing his forehead. Slowly, he reaches around Yuuri to play with Vincent’s hair – this time, the boy does not pull away from him, simply coos in his throat and drops back off to sleep. “Then we won’t,” he says, simply. He tamps down the voice in his head that immediately asks him if he’s sure everything could be that easy, instead allowing himself to enjoy the reprieve of having his little family with him right this moment.

*

He does not know how long they rest against each other, but he must have dozed off at some point. He startles awake at the sound of rushing footsteps, all of them clamoring to enter the cafeteria – he tenses, arms tightening around Yuuri a fraction—apologizing softly when he grunts in discomfort—and then he hears it – static, a communication coming through despite the jammers. Noise erupts around the room – confusion, hope, fear – but it settles and a silence washes over the room upon the words, “ _Attention, foolish people of Earth.”_

Ah, so the Martians have decided to send communications. Lucky for them that while the UFE cannot even send signals to beg allies for help, they are able to hijack what’s left of Earth’s communication satellites like this.

“ _The noble Emperor of Vers,”_ the voice continues, _“Rayregalia Vers Rayvers_ ” –isn’t that _one hell_ of a name—“ _has issued an armistice declaration to the United Earth government. Even as we feel intense shame in our common ancestry with you, our desire is that this act conveys to you, sinful people of Earth, who took the life of…”_

Viktor tunes the rest of the communication out, his breath leaving him. The war has been put on hold, it seems – although how strongly this armistice will hold in the face of twenty bloodthirsty nobles, Viktor is not sure. He simply hopes it holds long enough for them to get to his homeland safely – there, they would be safe. Safer than out in the middle of the ocean, at least.

*

(Viktor learns about the Versian nobles accidentally, the first time. He had been chasing Makkachin through the halls of the Nikiforov home when the naughty pup runs into Father’s office – a place he wasn’t allowed to enter, on a normal day; forbidden on a day like this, when Father has guests over. Viktor is nervous and, honestly, a little scared—he doesn’t know what Father will do to Makkachin as punishment for suddenly entering a clearly _no entry space_ , but he’s more scared of what will happen if he doesn’t follow his dog.

So, against his own instincts, he runs headlong into the office.

He only hears the words “Orbital Knights” before the conversation stops, stopping his heart along with it. He looks around wildly, trying to spot a familiar ball of fur and – there –

“ _Makkachin,_ ” Viktor moans, because he would have preferred if Makka was on the carpet, or under one of Father’s couches. He would have preferred if Makkachin had decided to rest in one of the vases again, as long as it wasn’t where he is now – perched like the little drama queen that he is, _on Father’s guest’s lap_.

Makkachin has the arrogance to boof.

 

Neither of them get punished that day, because Father found it funny and his guest – _General Jae Han Park_ – liked Makkachin.

It’s not until four years later, when he’s finally old enough to enter military school, that he hears about them again – Orbital Knights – and this time, he finally finds out what they are. They’re the Martian’s version of ancient nobles, with the same power bestowed upon them by the Emperor of Vers. They’re the Generals of Mars, their military leaders – zealous and bloodthirsty and waiting just on the outside of the Earth’s atmosphere for the right time to strike, in giant ships that can destroy an entire Terran country.

He finds out when he’s nearly twenty-one that General Park had been in his home seven years ago to talk about one of the Orbital Knights that they had captured during Heaven’s Fall dying – of old age, of _experiments,_ even, Viktor has never gotten enough information to be sure – and that he was having that meeting with Father because he was afraid of the other Orbital Knights retaliating.

 _Orbital Knights,_ those who have the power of Aldnoah in their veins, those who pilot giant Landing Castles.)

*

“What’s happening?” Yuuri asks. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet, but he seems to be awake.

“The Emperor of Vers offered an armistice,” Viktor murmurs. “We can’t let our guard down, though. We have no idea just how far the Knights’ loyalty to their Emperor goes.” He hesitates, but he decides to add, “or how little.”

Yuuri pulls away to look at him, confused. Viktor simply smiles, tight, and stands. His leg almost immediately buckles, but he catches himself on time, laughing along with Yuuri when he snorts. Yuuri himself is graceful when he stands, whistling for their babies to stand to follow them.

As soon as the screens are turned off – and the announcement about the armistice on repeat along with it – a noise from the back catches Viktor’s attention. The mothers, pushing carts upon carts into the cafeteria, smiling at everyone and joyfully announcing lunch.

*

Viktor had barely gotten a spoonful into his mouth when the ship’s alarm starts blaring.

 _See?_ he thinks vindictively. _I knew that armistice wasn’t going to fucking hold._

“An _attack?!”_ someone yells, and Yuuri looks to him wildly, confused, scared. His arms tighten around Vincent.

“There’s an armistice,” Yuuri says, almost as if that would make the attack stop. Viktor smiles, tight, at Yuuri, and reaches out to steady him when the boat shudders. He looks towards the closest security screen and – right there, at the deck –

“It’s that goddamned _Knight_ ,” he hisses, pushing away from the table and pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead. From the corner of his eye he sees Lieutenant Marito do the same to Doctor Yagarai, and then both of them are running for the docks before the announcement to intercept even comes.

“Nikiforov!” Marito yells, just as they get to the docks. “This time, _stay away_ from those goddamned swords, you hear?”

Viktor laughs as he smashes the button to the lift and jumps on. “I’ll keep that in mind, Lieutenant.”

“ _God damn it!”_

Viktor settles into the Hofvarpnir’s pilot well and, almost immediately, it powers up and moves – Viktor, frozen, lets it.

He has not touched any of the controls. He had not touched any of the controls, and the darned Kataphrakt is moving on its own, as if moving by Viktor’s will alone. His hands are frozen over the control pads, his eyes moving from one monitor to another; he is _sure_ he had completely shut Hofvarpnir’s system down last night, but now all of the systems are up and running, no preliminary checks needed to gauge and recalibrate its controls to the situation.

The door to the dock opens. Viktor squints at the change in brightness on his monitor, waiting for it to change brightness levels and—

Wait.

He squinted on reflex. The monitor adjusted _faster than he could even predict it to._  

He finally has a visual on the enemy Kataphrakt, cursing under his breath because this time, skewered on his sword, is one of the Wadatsumi’s cannons. From either side of him Arion platoons rush in, blasting him with their AP rounds, but the Martian gets through it.

“Scatter!” he yells into his communications, finally gaining control of his faculties to jump from his position, over the Kataphrakt, and all to the way behind it. The Arions scatter according to command. From the sides of the dock he can see two Morgenstern platoons on the wait – one of those is his own, he knows. They’re fast. “Bridge! Close the door!” he instructs, bringing out his firearm and blasting the Kataphrakt from behind. For something of its size it sure moves fast – it intercepts Viktor’s rounds so fast that, when he runs out of ammo, he has no choice but to switch arms or risk getting skewered. He slides to the left just as the Kataphrakt comes for him with one of its plasma swords.

It rocks forward, suddenly – one of the Arions have successfully hit it with a round. Viktor rushes in with his own knife as the Kataphrakt turns to take care of the Arions behind him, turning his back to the other platoon off to the other side. He dodges the second sword – just when the _hell_ did he pull that out?! – just as the Kat rocks forward again. A Morgenstern got it – Viktor doesn’t recognize that green band; probably not one of his, then. The other one – Lee?

Something catches Viktor’s eye – it glints against the soft blue light of his control panel and he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even try to think of what the _hell_ it’s supposed to do – he flips the cover and smashes the button with his fist. He barely has enough time to raise his arm to protect the Hofvarpnir’s head from the Knight’s downswing.

He barely registers his name, coming in from his communications. There were people screaming his name.

Something explodes. It rocks the Hofvarpnir’s frame, but – Viktor looks up. The plasma has gone from white-hot to a cooler blue, less destructive and probably easier to control now, and around the Hofvarpnir’s arm –

 _“Detonative armor,”_ someone says, awed, but Viktor has no time to revel in his unit’s hidden fucking _features_ because the other sword’s coming for him again. He grabs the arm of the desaturated plasma sword, and swings up to meet the other one on the upswing. It rocks the frame of the Hofvarnir again, but it manages to hold up against the explosion. He _will have to talk to Father_. He moves his hand to grab on to the sword, his mind scrambling with thoughts of _what now what now what now –_

“Tilt the ship!” he yells, and hears his command be relayed to the helmsmen. He feels himself slowly tipping backwards, skidding towards the water. If he times it just right, he can use the amount of energy those plasma swords are putting out against the Kataphrakt itself – cause a steam explosion underwater; probably going to rock the ship a bit, but it’s a high-class warship. It will survive. Their Kats wouldn’t, though. He is _not_ excited to talk to Father about this.

_Father, I wrecked that wonderful, new Kataphrakt you gave me. To be fair, if I didn’t, a Martian Knight would probably have skewered a warship full of refugees._

He can almost see Father’s disappointed face, can almost hear the Council’s sneers. _This is what we get for trusting the Nikiforov boy. We give him our best equipment and he blows it up underwater._

Viktor grits his teeth. He will have to face the consequences, but later—right now he has a ship full of people to protect, and an enemy Kataphrakt to get rid of. The only foreseeable way of doing so is to dunk the damned thing in enough water that it destroys itself with its own weapon.

Viktor holds on. They’re tilting far enough that he can feel gravity pulling him almost sideways but suddenly, as if a switch had been pulled, his unit shuts down – the pilot well darkens and he’s left with nothing but his life-support gauges. It’s the opposite of what had happened when he got in – he hadn’t touched anything, and the thing just stopped working. Horrified, he turns towards the monitor in front of him – he watches, stupefied, confused, and more than just a little bit _relieved_ , as the Knight’s Kataphrakt seems to shut down as well – a shimmering, rainbow light pulsing around it before the light glows brighter and then suddenly shuts off, just as Viktor’s had done.

The plasma swords disappear, and Viktor feels his Kataphrakt weigh him down the rest of the way to the water. The Martian Kataphrakt follows him in – they fall in two big _splashes_ into the water, sinking, sinking, _sinking._

At first, there’s shouting through their communication lines – instructions of rebalancing the ship, of checking out if there had been any injuries following the sudden tilt.

And then, there was silence.

-

Inside the ship, Yuuri takes advantage of people’s fascination with Viktor’s awe-inspiring combat skills to rush out of the cafeteria, Viktor’s jacket thrown around the small body held against his chest. His ribs and neck hurt from the beating he continues to put his body through, but he pushes the protest down as much as he is able.

Right before the Kataphrakt units stopped moving, Vincent, in all his small glory, started glowing.

-

Not even six hours since the announcement of the armistice, a new announcement comes in from Vers – this time, the regal face and posture of a man, garbed in attractive dark blue and maroon, sits in front of their screens. They realize now that they’re looking at the Emperor of the Vers Empire, before he even opens his mouth to speak.

“ _In the name of Rayregalia Vers Rayvers, Emperor of Vers,_ ” he says, “ _I hereby renew my declaration of war. I call upon you, my loyal Knights: attack the Earth! Those who would do harm to my flesh and blood—must burn!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY I FINALLY GOT TO WRITE A SLAINE POV THAT ISN'T HIM JUST PANICKING LOL i am going to avenge this boy and treat him the way he deserves to be treated
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> i have a [ twitter here ](http://www.twitter.com/qian_mikmik)  
> or a [ tumblr here ](http://www.ehre-wahrheit.tumblr.com) if u want to talk to me!!!


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